


Pray The Sun Will Rise

by Trashforstuckyandgot



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aegon VI Targaryen and Jon Snow are Siblings, Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen Live, Aerys Is His Own Warning, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Anger, Angst, Arthur Dayne Lives, Ashara Dayne Lives, Betrayal, Broken Promises, Complicated Relationships, Death in Childbirth, Dorne, Elia Martell Lives, Elia Martell-centric, F/F, F/M, Fear, Fluff, Heavy Angst, House Martell, House Targaryen, How Do I Tag, Hurt, Implied Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Implied Sexual Content, Jaime Lannister Needs a Hug, King Rhaegar, King Rhaegar Targaryen, King's Landing, Kingsguard, Lyanna Stark Lives, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Betrayal, Pregnancy, Protective Arthur, Queen Elia Martell, Queen Lyanna Stark, Rhaegar Lives, Rhaegar Targaryen Lives, Rhaella Targaryen Lives, Sad, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Soft Daenerys Targaryen, Tags Are Hard, Targaryen Babies, Targaryen Babies (ASoIaF), Targaryen Restoration, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Tower of Joy, Viserys Targaryen Lives, Viserys Targaryen Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2020-06-27 14:48:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 252,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19793122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashforstuckyandgot/pseuds/Trashforstuckyandgot
Summary: Elia had seen the girl once or twice. Such a young woman, half a child, still. The Princess of Dorne never understood what drew Rhaegar to Lyanna Stark. She was fierce, untamed and had a wild beauty to her, but not a comeliness that songs could be sung about. Yet the thought struck the newly-made queen that Rhaegar had been blathering on about his prophecies ever since they wed, especially of ice and fire. Is this what he meant, what he needed? To fuck a girl with ice in her veins? There was anger in the Dornishwoman’s heart. Black and putrid, weeping with sorrow.





	1. Now, it begins.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I'm back with a brand-new story and this is my first AU.  
> I have no idea how long it'll be but I always wanted to write a ''what if Rhaegar had won'' story and especially how Elia would deal with it, what her relationships would be like and all the nitty-gritty things in-between. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy (and have mercy on me because it's only the first chapter <3) and the next chapter will be of the actual meeting, Rhaegar's return, so stay tuned for that. 
> 
> I'll update the tags as the story progresses.
> 
> Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed the story and don't forget to comment what you thought down below. I hope you enjoy.  
> I've also written a long series of drabbles between different Targ-pairings that's called ''Their Songs Of Fire And Blood'' so check that out, if you're interested. 
> 
> <3

“What is happening, Lord Varys?” Elia asked the man whom they called the spider. Rhaenys was clinging to her skirts in unease and Aegon was fussing in her arms. One could almost sense the tension that radiated in small waves, off of the royal family. 

“King Rhaegar was victorious at the Trident. He slayed Robert Baratheon valiantly and has pardoned Lord Stark, who has sworn to not take up arms against the crown, forevermore.” _King? What is the meaning of that? Aerys must have perished, then, but by whose hands?_

“King?” Elia warily asked. Varys gave her a secretive smile that somehow, unsettled her further.

“King Aerys was slain by Ser Jaime Lannister, making Prince Rhaegar a king.” Relief embraced her body. _Thank the gods, he is dead._ Elia felt so alleviated that she thought she might weep. _We are safe,_ yet a nagging voice at the back of her head spited her. _For now._

“That also makes you his Queen,” Varys told her in a soft voice. “You need not fear anymore, sweetling. The war is done and overwith,” he finished. 

The new queen turned to look at her companion. She knew he was fickle, all that was needed in a master of spies but he had shown her kindness, comfort and helped her. Lord Varys, who was not a lord truly, had taken hold of her beige arm a fortnight ago and told her of an elaborate scheme. A plot to save a prince, but not a princess. 

***

“When the time comes, we must switch Aegon with another infant. You must be ready and allow for it to happen,” he told her, surprisingly blunt for such a man of ambiguous words. 

“Why?” she asked, cradling her son closer to her chest and kissing the soft, silver curls that lay atop his head. _Rhaegar’s hair._ Varys gave her a queer look, then. It was full of sympathy, of pain, almost. As if the princess was a child, who was to be told some horrible news.

“The birds have been singing their songs, for some time now and none of it sounds sweet. I fear for Prince Aegon’s safety as heir to the throne, after his father.” A dread washed over Elia, chilling her to the very bones. _They cannot mean to harm my son, he has done no wrong._ Yet Princess Elia was very much aware, deep within her body, that if it came to it, men in war would do anything. _They turn into beasts._

“And you do not fear for my daughter’s?” Steel laced her voice and Lord Varys reached a powdered hand out, to stroke her cheek, gently. As a father would his daughter, if she was in pain. 

“Princess Rhaenys is recognisable to all of the court. Her disappearance would be duly noted, should any sort of mishap fall upon Prince Rhaegar at the Trident. You cannot afford any more of King Aerys’s ire, nor anyone else’s.” She took his meaning plainly. There would be nothing to do for her sweet Rhae, nor Elia herself. _All he can do is try to save my son, if the time comes._ Tears brimmed behind her dark eyes and spilled from her eyes. _How can one ask this of a mother? To give one of my children to life, and the other to death._

“No, Varys. There must be another way,” she pleaded brokenly. The eunuch beheld a troubled look in his pale, blue eyes. 

“I am afraid there is not, princess. You must remain strong, allow us to reassure the safety of your son, a paramount piece in the search for the good of the-” 

“-The realm be damned! You are asking me to look upon my daughter each day, knowing that I have sentenced her to death!” In that moment, one would have said that Princess Elia had finally gained her fangs, that she was the female reincarnation of her brother, Prince Oberyn. 

“This is not a certainty, Princess. Prince Rhaegar may be victorious, mayhaps all that the words I am being sung, are exactly that; songs. Yet we do not know and there is no time to falter. Save your tears and turn them into dedication, ensure the life of your sweet babe,” he told her with a quiet resolve. _One babe,_ she thought bitterly. _Not two._ In the end, Elia nodded, unable to speak the words, to give her consent to such a heartbreaking action. Still, this was war and Elia was no child. _Not any longer._

The plump man looked as if he wished to embrace her, to comfort her in her grief, but she slithered away from his outreached hand. _There is no one left for me here, now._ Varys was kind but she knew that he did not belong to her and neither would he risk his safety for her.

“Begone with you, Lord Varys. I must grieve my daughter while she is still with me. Begone,” she whispered as tears trickled down her cheeks, steadily. The man nodded and took his leave, the slippers padding softly across the marble floors.

***

“Ser Jaime, where is he?” Elia inquired, sharply. The young man had been forced to tail her good-father like a shadow but Rhaenys was fond of him and Elia, as well. He had spent time guarding them, before the war started. She knew the man little but did not think he deserved to rot in the black cells, for freeing them all from Aerys’s tyranny. _I owe him,_ Elia thought. She would make sure he knew. 

“In the dungeons. He is to remain there until Prince Rhaegar is returned, to convict him.” 

“I wish to see him, to speak with him,” Elia commanded. She was a queen now and would behave as such. _I will not let them see any more weakness in me._ Yet she was weary and tired from all the steps. Moons had passed but still, the Dornish princess had not recovered from the birth of her second child. _My final child. Was this not why Rhaegar left me? Because I could bear him no more heirs and he needed his damned third head._ What a price they all had to pay, for that. Queen Elia was wroth, enraged, even and she would make sure that King Rhaegar knew. _It is never too late to grow thorns and I hope mine prick him until he bleeds._

“As you command, My Queen. I will have arrangements made.” Then the spider slithered away, padding softly. As if he had never been. 

Elia was left standing in the throne room, a guard on each side but never had she felt so alone, so vulnerable. _This is empty power,_ she realised. _It is empty faith._

“Mama, I want Papa to return,” Rhaenys whimpered, wiping her teary, lavender eyes on the red sleeve of her dress. Aegon had settled in Elia’s arms and was woozy, on the brink of falling into a deep slumber. _They are tired. We all are._ Queen Elia bent down, kissing her daughter’s cheek that was stained with the remnants of tears.

“I know my sweet. He will be here soon.” Elia did not know how she was feeling of Rhaegar’s impending return. _First he runs away with the wolf girl, then he returns long enough to go to war and demands all Kingsguard protect his new paramour._ Even her brave and valiant Ser Arthur, had left her. _The only one who remained was Ser Jaime._

Elia had seen the girl once or twice. _Such a young woman, half a child, still._ The Princess of Dorne never understood what drew Rhaegar to Lyanna Stark. She was fierce, untamed and had a wild beauty to her, but not a comeliness that songs could be sung about. Yet the thought struck the newly-made queen that Rhaegar had been blathering on about his prophecies ever since they wed, especially of ice and fire. _Is this what he meant, what he needed? To fuck a girl with ice in her veins?_ There was anger in the Dornishwoman’s heart. Black and putrid, weeping with sorrow. 

The iron throne glared back at Elia, menacing and malevolently. _The things it does to people, how it drives them mad-- it’s awful._ Now her husband would take his cruel father’s place atop that throne. Would Rhaegar rule justly, benevolently? Or would he yet again; be swayed by prophecies? Elia had no answers for that. There was no trust left within her heart for him, for anyone, save the Queen Rhaella and Elia’s own kin. The things she had witnessed would turn a weaker woman mad. _I am frail, yes, but not of heart._ If she had been, then she would have fainted the first time Aerys forced her to be present, for the burning of a man. Elia had not flinched, nor shown him any sort of reaction but a blank facade. Nonetheless, when she had reached her chamber, she retched and prayed to the gods that she would forget the smell of burning flesh. 

“Mama,” Rhaenys asked and Elia snapped out of her daze. The iron throne lost the attention of the Dornish princess who instead, turned toward her daughter. 

“Yes, sweetling?” Princess Rhaenys pointed toward a knight who stood waiting, patiently. Elia brushed imaginary dirt off of her gown and rose, dignitantly. 

“I beg your pardon, My Queen, but you wished to speak with the prisoner, Ser Jaime?” The man had a coarse beard, as black as night, with green eyes and pox-scars on his cheeks. 

“I do,” Elia allowed, staring at him with unflinching, brown eyes. 

“Allow me to escort you but I fear the children will have to remain-” 

“No,” she snapped, tugging Rhaenys closer to her and grasping Aegon more fiercely, to her breast. The queen refused to leave them, even for a second. _All it takes is a swift blade and the heirs will be a fleeting memory. My children, my dragons, I will let naught happen to them._

“I am sorr-” the man began.

“My children remain with me. I am the queen,” she reminded him and he looked as if he wished to argue but instead, relented and beckoned her to follow him. 

The dungeons were dark and wet, smelling of death and regret. There was some putrid smell that she did not recognise. It burned through her nostrils like sulfur and the queen found herself frowning. Rhaenys liked it even less, clinging fiercely to Elia’s arm that was not cradling baby Aegon. There was so many cells and some contained faces she did not know. _Why should I know them? They are not down here for being honest men._ The prisoners shouted for her, to give them bread, to save them, for their innocence. The queen had long closed her ears to such pleas, or she would not have survived King Aerys. 

Finally they reached a cell where she spotted a glint of golden hair and a long, white cloak. 

“Ser Jaime,” Elia whispered so quietly that no one heard her. The young Lannister looked rugged and wary but otherwise, relatively well, considering the circumstances. He had been stripped of his weapon and anything that could prove a hazard. _He is glorious with a sword in hand, of course they did, it is customary._

“We are here, My Queen,” the knight bowed and Elia nodded. 

“You may retreat, my good Ser. I wish to speak with Ser Jaime privily.” The man looked at her and the young Lannister, with wary eyes.

“Forgive me, My Queen but if the king hears that any harm has been-”

“-No harm will come to me. Ser Jaime is sworn to protect all belonging to the royal family,” she smiled ruefully. 

“A vow he forsaked and spit upon,” the man snapped, looking toward the young knight of the kingsguard, in utter disgust. 

“I was not asking, I was commanding you. Leave us be and wait for me to call upon you,” Elia replied with a voice like sleeting ice. Finally, the knight did leave her be. 

“How are you, Ser?” Elia asked softly, treading carefully. Jaime’s eyes looked hauntingly empty when he gazed upon her. 

“Well,” he replied tersely. The queen moved to speak but her willful daughter beat her to it. 

“Ser Jaime,” Rhaenys squealed and reached her hand between the bars, in attempt to greet the knight. The little princess grew wroth when her short, little arms would not reach. Jaime smiled for the first time and moved closer, touching Rhaenys’s hand with a gentleness, unparalleled. The sight brought tears to the queen’s eyes and made her heart clench, painfully. 

“My little princess. Where is Balerion?” he asked and Rhaenys smiled. 

“Sleeping, in father’s chambers.” The mention of Rhaegar stirred something in both Elia and Jaime, making them share a quiet, unsteady look. 

“He must be a ravenous beast, by now.” The comment made her daughter giggle and a softness appear in Jaime’s eyes. _He was always fond of her._

Standing grew uncomfortable for the queen, so she moved to sit down. 

“Here,” Jaime said and gave her his white cloak.

“It is soiled already.” The man was not speaking of filth. 

“It is yours to keep, Ser Jaime. Always. I have other gowns,” Elia replied and sat down atop the filthy and slightly damp concrete. Aegon was still sleeping soundly, gently cupping Elia’s neck with his tiny hands. Her daughter moved to sit in her lap, as well, laying her head against her brother’s. The sight made Jaime look at the queen queerly.

“What?” Elia asked with a smile.

“You love them. More than any mother could love her children.” 

“And you helped save them.” Elia knew that her children were King Aerys’s grandchildren but he never treated them as such. She feared he would come to harm them, had he lived. As a final bargain against Rhaegar, perhaps. _How can one claim to know the mind of a madman?_

“I am nothing but a Kingslayer, now,” he smiled ruefully. 

“You are so much more, to all of us who suffered beneath Aerys, Ser Jaime. None of them will ever understand what it was like, truly,” Elia replied and wished for him to understand. 

“This place is not fit for a queen. You should not be here,” Jaime told her. “Especially not the children.” Elia frowned.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said, quietly. “You shall face no scorn from me or my children. I will speak with Rhaegar and plead for him to pardon you.” 

“You need not, My Quee-”

“But I will, Ser Jaime.” The young knight looked in awe of the queen. Of her strength and her perseverance, only paralleled by Dowager Queen Rhaella’s. Then she beckoned a sleepy Rhaenys to stand up and moved closer to the bars. 

The Lannister man observed her strangely. Elia’s slender arm reached out to touch Jaime’s hand, then she leaned forward and brought it toward her lips, kissing the top of his hand, softly. The cool sensation of the metal rods touching her forehead, calmed the burning headache that had plagued her for weeks. 

“Goodbye for now. We will meet again.” Then the queen rose and called for the knight, to escort her out. Elia failed to notice that Jaime Lannister’s emerald eyes had been brimming with unshed tears and that he had allowed one or two to slip past his cheeks. 

Supper was a calm affair, Elia had ordered that a simple meal of soup and a platter of fruits be delivered to her chambers. Aegon had been fed by the wet-nurse, for Elia lacked enough milk to properly sustain him. Rhaenys on the other hand, ate heartily, unaware of the uncertainty gnawing at her mother. The queen was glad that her daughter was unbeknown toward the future that seemed hazy with smoke, of the palpable tension that stood between Queen Elia and King Rhaegar. _He left us here to die_ and the thought gnawed on her like nothing else. 

The sun laid low in the west and she could see the way the light glinted off of the dark green waves of Blackwater Bay. Balerion rested comfortably in Rhaenys’s lap, returned from his ventures into Rhaegar’s chambers. The black cat was a scrawny little thing, the runt of the kitchen cat’s litter, yet her gentle daughter loved him, nonetheless. The young princess was wont to pretend that he was the real black dread of old. Elia munched on a strawberry as she watched Rhaenys occasionally move to pat her brother’s head. Aegon was lucky to have such a loving sister and Elia felt blessed to have such lovely children. They were gentle, to their very core. 

After supper, Elia dressed Rhaenys and Aegon in their sleeping garb, no matter how exhausted she felt. Then she decided that she wished to keep them close, to know that they would be there when she woke, so she climbed into the bed and placed Aegon’s cot next to it. However, the babe fussed and gurgled for his mother and Elia could not find it in her heart to deny him, so she picked him up and placed him against her chest. 

Rhaenys laid beside her, curly brown hair in a thick braid, lavender eyes closed. Soon enough, the young princess was breathing deeply and her son had fallen asleep as well. Fear and uncertainty kept Queen Elia awake. _What will the morrow bring?_ She found herself wondering. Her Prince would return, a king. _He was never mine, was he? The fool has made that evident_ . She never claimed that Rhaegar was the love of her life, yet she had loved him, borne his children and cared for them, with every ounce of her being. King Rhaegar repaid her with this treachery and for that, she could not see herself forgiving him. _At least we are safe now. At least I have my children._

Finally, in the wee hours of the morn, Elia fell asleep. 

The previous night, she had been a princess. 

Now she was a Queen.


	2. The heart is a mercurial thing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mama!” Her daughter squealed and jumped into the queen’s arms, as soon as Elia had opened the door. Rhaegar laughed lightly and kissed Aegon atop his head with a father’s love. There was no doubt in her mind that her husband loved his children dearly. But he loved his prophecies more, she thought in dismay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter but I hope you enjoy it, nonetheless.  
> Beware: It has not been edited and I wrote it at literally 3 a.m but I will edit it, when I have the time. 
> 
> Also: Might change the chapter title, haven't decided yet. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and please leave a kudos if you enjoyed it and comment down below :)
> 
> <3

“Mama, wake up,” Rhaenys pleaded, stroking Elia’s hair by the help of gentle, chubby hands. With her eyes still closed, Elia smiled, then she opened them, one brown eye at a time. 

“What is the matter, my dove? Can you not sleep?” The queen asked, frowning. Dawn had barely risen and the sky was a beautiful warm color whilst the sun was a mere orange speck, beyond the bay. 

“I want papa,” the girl said, so sadly that it tugged at Elia’s soul. No mother wishes to see their child in pain and that is why the queen opened her arms, for Rhaenys to snuggle into. _The last thing I ever wish to see is those lavender eyes brimming with tears._ Aegon was still snuggled against her chest. _It is a wonder that he slept through the night,_ Elia thought. _Yet I should not indulge this behavior, he must needs learn how to sleep in his own crib._ It would only be for another night or two, the queen thought it did not matter very much. 

“I love you, my gentle dragon,” Elia whispered, drowsy with sleep and leaning down to kiss the top of Rhaenys’s head, adorned with hair the same shade as her own was. Her daughter’s response was to tighten the tiny hold she had on her mother. The thought struck Elia, after the conversation she had shared with Ser Jaime, that Rhaenys and Aegon could have been their babes. In a time long ago, her mother had requested a betrothal between Elia and the Lannister knight. Lord Tywin had refused though, stating that Elia could wed the imp when he came of age. The ruling Princess of Dorne had not taken that slight lightly. 

_I did not have anything against little Tyrion. He was just a babe, like my Aegon is. Neither of them, nor any other children deserve the cruel fate of death, simply for being born a certain way._ The thought of losing her children was unimaginable, yet that was what she had prepared herself for. To never see her daughter grow up into a maid lovelier than spring, or her little prince learning to walk and speak. Elia knew that if her children were to die, then so would she. _Never would I go on, knowing that they would be gone._

Rhaegar would be arriving that day, yet the queen knew naught of when. Bitterness bloomed within her, like a seed that was constantly watered. _Rhaegar almost robbed me of my children and them of their lives, that have not yet been lived. How could he?_ No answer would ever be enough, no amount of reasoning. _We were going to die, I had prepared myself for death, for Rhaenys’s death. Aegon’s, even..._ Never would Queen Elia wish that upon a mother. To look upon your child and see them, still as a statue, pale with graveworms crawling out of them, eyes as blank as the summer seas and faces that would never again smile or laugh or tell you that they love you. 

_I hope he sends for Rhaella, it is lonely without her here. Lonelier than it was before._ The Dowager Queen had always treated Elia with kindness and shared her pains. _It was not easy for her, with Aerys. The way he would…_ The thoughts were too horrible to even fathom. Her good-mother was with child, last Elia heard of her. _May the Seven Hells haunt Aerys for this, for the manner in which he got her with child. For all those sins he committed in the midst of his insanity._

 _Poor Viserys, as well._ The Dowager Queen Rhaella had tried to shield her son as best she could, from his father’s madness. The prince was a sweet boy, a bit coddled and spoiled but he had a good heart and was deeply fond of Elia. _He would call me Aunt Elia and hold my hand. Of course not when his father saw,_ for even the young prince knew of King Aerys’s distaste toward the Dornishwoman and no one wished to be the receiver or the king’s ire. 

It began to rain, Elia knew by the sounds it made against the windows and the sky’s darknening with the sun being eclipsed by the clouds. An ominous foreboding, _yet I never put much stock in those sorts of things._ Soon enough, the queen found herself lulled by the rapt noises and the thought of how a stroll through the courtyard would be lovely, later during the day. _With the smell of morning dew in our noses and puddles for Rhaenys to play in._

The next time she was awoken, it was by Aegon’s soft weeping. 

“Oh, hush my sweet,” Elia soothed as she kissed his chubby cheeks and sat up to rock him against her chest. Her son turned to gaze at her, dark, purple eyes, brimming with tears as a new wail threatened to escape his lips. 

“Now such pretty eyes were not made for tears, were they?” she asked her son, gently and he let out one last sob, before quieting against in her arms. 

“It is time to wake, my sweet,” Elia called for her Rhaenys to wake up, running a hand through the brown curls of her daughter. Rhaenys stirred and groaned, making her mother laugh, for she was sure that Aegon’s weeping should have woken his sister. _My Rhae is a heavy sleeper, perhaps she was trapped in a lovely dream. I wish that for her, to escape this wretched reality that we must face._

A weary tiredness still plagued the queen, yet she doubted it would be one that would succumb to sleep. Nonetheless, the Dornishwoman rose and splashed cooling, rosewater on both her and Rhaenys’s faces. Aegon, she contented with dabbing a little on his face, _lest he begin weeping again._ Then it was time to break their fast, as the sun had risen in the sky, bright and yellow, full of promises that were meant to be broken. 

“Eat your oatmeal, it is your favorite,” Elia told her daughter, who was too nervous to eat.

“When is papa coming?” The little girl asked, once again, almost bursting with an unabridged excitement. 

“Soon, my sweet. However, it will only take longer if you do not finish your meal,” Elia replied with a raised eyebrow and her daughter began scarfing down the oatmeal so quickly, that the queen had to put a calming hand on the princess’s shoulder.

“Calm down, my sweet,” the Dornishwoman said, giggling at her child’s antics. 

The wet-nurse had taken Aegon to the nursery but promised to return him when he was done feeding. Parting from her children still made the queen nervous but she had come to somewhat trust the kind wet-nurse. That did not mean that she was not wary, still. _I trusted Rhaegar and look where it got me, look where it got Rhaenys and Aegon. We were on the brink of our graves, as he was too busy starting wars and fucking northerners with betrotheds._

A quiet knock on the wooden door startled Elia. 

“You may enter,” she called and in walked the wet-nurse, with a sleepy Aegon in tow.

“This one ate heartily, m’queen,” the woman laughed and it calmed the queen. 

“It is good that he has a large appetite.” A smile covered the Dornishwoman’s lips as she was given her son, once again. 

“And those eyes,” the woman tut-tutted. “He will break many a hearts with those, i’d wager.” _At least now, he will be alive to do it._ Such certainties had not been known, weeks ago. 

“He has too much of a gentle spirit to do such,” Elia smiled.

“That’ll make the ladies flock to him all’emore.” It had been long since the queen felt the tiniest carefree, she relished in the moment. _It is not often that I converse with anyone but the spider and the guards. It is nice to have a change of scenery._

“Would you like to have some fruit and bread?” she asked the woman, whose blue eyes almost bulged at the request. 

“I’d love to.” “Ain’t often one gets offered ter’ break bread with a queen,” the wet-nurse said, in awe. _I should get to know my people, that is my duty, as a queen._ But were these her people, truly? Elia always fashioned Dorne to be her home, yet so much time away had made its power diminish in her memory. The queen was not quite sure of her place in the world, any longer. 

“What is your name?” Elia asked, rising to put a sleeping Aegon back in his cot, smoothing out his silver-gold curls with her beige hand, as well. 

“Melissa but most call me Melly.” _A pretty name,_ the queen thought. _It sounds sweet, like a song._

“Melly it is, then.” 

“How old are you?” Melly looked young, almost younger than Elia herself. _The fear must surely have taken its toll on me, now, though._

“Two-and-twenty, m’queen.” _She is younger than me._

“How many children do you have?” The woman laughed.

“Oh I have two little ones, a boy and a girl, m’queen. Troublemakers, the lot’o’em.” 

“The same as I,” Elia smiled. 

“Me boy is no larger than that son o’yours. Benn is his name, after his father. Then Missy is almost two.” 

“Do tell me when her nameday is. I shall have a gift commissioned,” the queen smiled. Many would think it a clever ploy, to get into the good graces of the common folk and have them spread the word of the benevolent queen, with a giving heart. It was not like that for Elia, however. She simply enjoyed the company of the woman and a small gift for Melly’s daughter would not even put a dent in her riches. _It is good to give back, once in a while. It keeps oneself grounded._

“M’queen is too kind,” the woman gasped, her blue eyes as big as saucers. Elia reached out to touch Melly’s hands, gently. 

“It is the least I can do. You help feed my son, allowing him to grow big and strong.” Melly blushed as if she was a maiden newly flowered, then. 

After more conversation and small-talk, Melly the wet-nurse took her leave and Elia suggested to Rhaenys, that they take a stroll in the yards. 

“You can jump in the puddles,” Elia whispered mischievously. “Let us just choose a gown that shan’t be missed,” she added. The little princess squealed in delight toward the prospect of playing in the puddles of rain-water. _She deserves the mirth and joy. I will not allow anyone to steal her girlhood from her._

***

“Mama look!” Rhaenys giggled as she jumped into a big pool of water. Elia looked on encouragingly, singing softly to Aegon as she swayed amongst the fresh flowers. Her son smiled and giggled in her arms.

“Just be careful, my dove,” Elia called, as Rhaenys ran further along the cobblestones. The queen continued singing to her son but after a few moments, she noticed that she could no longer hear her daughter’s fervent giggles and a panic bloomed within her chest. 

“Rhaenys?” She called wildly, looking around for the mop of brown curls or skirts in a dull, green color. 

“Here, mama!” Rhaenys shouted from a distance and Elia turned around to see Ser Arthur Dayne holding her daughter. _This must mean that they are returned..._

“Athu is back.” The tall man with the silvery hair and purple eyes smiled at the young princess. Elia’s heart simply clenched, in anger, misery, pain and a lost childhood love that was only ever doomed to be a memory.

“Ser Arthur,” Elia greeted and did not mean for it to sound so cold and infinitely distant. It was as if there was truly a world between them. His violet eyes were apologetic.

“Elia-” he began and moved to cup her cheek but she shied away, her brown eyes brimming with tears.

“Don’t,” the queen begged. 

“Where were you?” Elia asked, tearfully. Rhaenys was silently toying with the Sword Of The Morning’s beautiful strands of silver-gold hair.

“Dorne,” he replied, somberly. _What?_

“Why were you in my home?” she asked, sounding as if she was as young as Rhaenys.

“We were protecting Q- Lady Lyanna. I am sworn to speak no more of it, not until the king tells you of the news, himself.” 

“Why did he force you all to go?” she asked, distress apparent in her words. 

Her lost love turned to her with pity in his eyes. A way she never wanted to be looked at, ever again. 

“We… He- Rh- King Rhaegar did not force us to. We did it of our own accord, he only asked.” 

“So it was fully within your rights to decline?” The queen despised how feeble she sounded, _as weak as they all said that I was._

“Yes,” he looked down and she saw the dark lashes, she had once loved, spill over his cheeks. 

“No one even thought about what would become of us, here,” she whispered, almost to herself. “You left us here, with a madman!” Aegon began squalling in her arms but she could not think of that, not now. 

“Elia, calm down,” Arthur pleaded, his violet eyes as concerned as Rhaegar’s was when he was told that she could bear no more children. 

“You left us here, to die! We were going to die!” she cried, tears running down her cheeks. Aegon was fussing and Rhaenys looked frightened. 

“Don’t cry, mama,” her daughter begged, reaching her tiny arms out and squirming in Ser Arthur’s grasp. He let the princess down and she ran to her mother, who was all but collapsing on the ground. All the pain, all the stress, all the fear just burst from within her body. There had been no time for it when they she was fearing for their lives, but now… _It chooses now to appear, of all times._

“Do you want to know why I know what a man roasting alive smells like?” she asked, haughtily, “They were going to smuggle Aegon out. He told us that Rhaenys and I would have to die, if the time came. To prepare for it! That there would be no protecting us, and you willingly shelter a wanton, spoiled girl who needs it not?” Her raised voice had begun attracting the attention of the other guards and some lords and ladies of the court. _Those that remain of them,_ the queen thought bitterly. 

Furiously, Elia wiped at her tears, willing herself to be strong for her children. _They need me._

“I hope you had a pleasant time,” Elia laughed bitterly. “I suppose you did not want King Aerys barking down at you, analyzing your every move and threatening you, for any mishaps that occur. “ The severity of Elia’s situation had just begun making sense to her, how they had been so close to the arms of the stranger. She could almost taste it, the stale air, the cold corpses and the tears of sorrow. _It was by the Mother’s mercy, that we were spared._

“I am sorry, Elia,” Arthur said and tried to touch her but she moved away from him, violently. 

“Our blood would have been on your hands. On all of yours! Damn you,” the queen whimpered, all the rage being replaced by exhaustion and melancholy.

“If I could take it back, I would,” he replied, a tear sliding down his cheeks. 

Then, the Sword of The Morning embraced her, the whining Aegon and gentle Rhaenys, as well. _I do not have the strength to push him away._ Elia allowed herself the comfort of his touch, of the warm embrace. It was something she had lacked, something she had desperately yearned for. _Only a few more moments,_ she told the gods or anyone who would listen. Then it was time to let go.

“But you can’t,” Elia of Dorne whispered and departed, leaving a bewildered and remorseful Arthur, in her wake. 

Elia moved haughtily back to her chambers, with Aegon in one arm and Rhaenys in the other.

“What did uncle Athu do?” Rhaenys asked quietly. Elia would not have heard her, would it not have been for the girl speaking almost directly into the queen’s ear. 

“It is what he did not do, my sweet,” Elia replied, trying to remain calm and collected, when her heart was bleeding and her spirit, broken. 

Finally inside, the queen sat Rhaenys down on the bed and laid Aegon in his cot. _He is not tired but some rest and play will do him good._ She left him a toy dragon that Rhaegar had commissioned, so long ago, when he first heard of her pregnancy. Poor Queen Elia was on the brink of collapse, physically and mentally. All the strain that had been put on her, was not healthy, even a blind man could see how it affected her. 

Then she removed Rhaenys’s wet clothing and gave both of them a bath. Her children were not averse to the heat, but rather they enjoyed it, very much so. _Just like most Targaryens,_ Elia found herself thinking. It seemed that even Aegon could sense his mother’s unease, for he clung to her and was giving her his most charming, toothless smiles. Her daughter was ever attentive, listening to her mother’s instructions and giving no complaints. 

None of the children liked being brought out of the tub but Elia bribed them with kisses and cuddles, which they gladly accepted and soon their discontent was a mere memory. 

“My beautiful children,” Elia smiled as she gazed at them both, newly dried with damp hair and sparkling, purple eyes. _Aegon’s is darker than his sister’s. Rhaenys boasts the most lovely shade of purple I have ever seen. How did I make such beautiful and good-natured babes?_ Rhaegar had helped, of course but then he had almost unmade them, so Elia did not feel like giving the king more credit than him spilling his seed inside of her. 

“My Queen?” A voice was heard from beyond the door. It was The White Bull, Ser Gerold Hightower. She recognised his powerful voice. 

“You may enter,” Elia called, even though it was the last thing she wished for. _I do not want to see Rhaegar. I do not have the strength for it, to face him and his lies._ The oaken door opened as she finished tying the laces for Rhaenys’s purple gown. _She wants to look pretty for her papa._

“The king wishes to have a private audience with you, My Queen. Then he asks to see the children.” 

“Wishes or commands?” Elia asked, snidely. The White Bull was unworthy of her scorn, _yet it seems I am giving it to whomever has played even the littlest of parts in this mummery._

“I am afraid it is the latter, My Queen.” Ser Gerold had the audacity to look even the slightest bit ashamed. 

“Then I shan’t keep him waiting,” she sighed wearily and called for a maid, to take the children to their nursery.

“Have them brought to King Rhaegar’s chamber, when Ser Gerold comes to retrieve them.” Both the maid and Ser Gerold nodded. 

The walk was almost unbearably long and The White Bull seemed uneasy in her presence. _Is it because he knows what they did? What the cost of their lies and foolery almost turned out to be? Did he look upon my children and see their graves? Their small, cold little bodies-- unmoving?_ Elia had no wish to converse with him and therefore, she remained silent as all those who watched Aerys burn his prisoners. 

Ser Gerold opened the door for her but she gave him no thanks, only a curt nod in his direction. The White Bull looked as if he wished to speak, to say something before she entered, yet he did not. The queen smoothed out her red skirts, embroidered with tiny, orange suns and straightened her back. _Queen they say I am, but I donn no crown._

Immediately, Elia moved to sit down in the chair that was closest to the hearth. Rhaegar was not there yet and his tardiness left a bitter taste in her mouth. An agitation began creeping over her skin, however, making it itch and crawl. _I have not seen him for moons and even then, it had only been for a few moments_. It was almost as if the flower of Dorne was expecting a monster, a twisted man, maimed by war. He did not feel like he would be the same, even though she knew that he most likely would be. 

Approaching footsteps made the queen raise her head. 

“Elia,” a good-natured voice called, one she thought she loved, once. The silver-gold hair was loose but adorned with two braids. _He looks…_ the queen did not know what to say or think. His eyes were still the same somber indigo, never far from their melancholy. The nose was still the same and his lips, just as full. All the Princess of Dorne could do, was look at him. She was angry, hurt and sad… yet no words willed themselves to escape from her lips. 

King Rhaegar moved toward her and bent down to embrace her. He felt warm and soothing yet there was something different. _He does not smell like himself..._ The prince who was now a king, smelled of pine-leaves and something foreign. It unnerved her how he was so close but so far away. The queen remained stiff in his arms. Still, her heart ached for closeness, a kind of comfort, to be given from someone who had not betrayed her. Elia would not mold herself after his touch, not any longer. _I am the sun and I will burn him. Even dragons bow before the sun._

Brown eyes met indigo, cold against warm, anger against softness. 

“I worried for you,” he said with a quiet relief. As if he had taken what would become of them, into account, _before he left to fuck a girl who was barely a woman when he was a man, wedded and bedded with children of his own._

“Did you?” she replied and could not contain the sneer that formed on her face. 

“Ser Jaime stayed. To keep you safe.” It made Elia laugh, a horrendous, dry sound that was learned in the most horrible forms of pain. 

“From your father? The one he was sworn to protect? Ser Jaime could do naught for your mother as she was screaming, in the throes of her pain caused by the king. He is sworn to protect us, yes. But not from kings.” Rhaegar cringed at her harsh words.

“I would never have allowed any harm to come to you,” The king replied, with sincere, indigo eyes. They once made her heart swoon with adoration, now she only saw the remains of an ugly truth. 

“How would you have prevented it, pray tell? You left us, with no protection and no loyalty, to run away with a child. When the time came, you would be able to do nothing but look upon our corpses and whisper your cursed goodbyes-- knowing it was you, who put us there.” Elia did not think she would ever have it in her, to be so cruel. _It seems the Targaryens are not the only ones who boast dragons within._ Hers were woken now and would not return to its slumber. _I am the mother of dragons, so I will have to be their fire when they have none, yet._

“Nothing happened to you, Elia!” her husband finally snapped. 

“Nothing?” The queen scoffed and felt her palm itch to slap him. “Your wretched father forced me to watch as he burned men alive. Do you know what it smells like? Not unlike a pork roast, except the pigs scream less, do they not? They don’t plead and soil themselves. Your father barricaded us within Maegor’s holdfast and forbade us to leave. He also threatened the lives of Rhaenys and Aegon when a minor mishap occurred with Dorne.” The Dornishwoman leaned closer, to whisper in her husband’s ear. “He said I could watch them burn and maybe they would turn into dragons.” Rhaegar looked horrified. _Yes, that does not sound like nothing, now does it?_

Her husband moved to speak, yet it looked like he had no words to say it. 

“Oh, I am not done yet,” she snapped. “Lord Varys told me of a plan, to switch Aegon with another infant, should the time come. It did not look as if you would remain victorious, I fear. There was naught to do for Rhaenys and I, however. See, I had to mourn my daughter and my son, whilst they were both still alive and in my arms. I pray you never come close to such a hopelessness, yet still, I would love for you, to have a taste of it. To have to visualize them in their graves, with the sweet scent of death, filling the room.” 

“I am sor-” King Rhaegar began, his voice choked with an unuttered sob. 

“-Spare me your false words of comfort. Nothing could soothe such a pain.” 

“It was for the prophecy, there needed to be a third head to the dragon… I thought it was right, that I was-” Elia felt as if she was going to faint with pure rage.

“-One more word about those wretched prophecies and I will not hesitate to strike you, I care not if you have a crown!”

“I am sorry Elia, more than you could ever know and-” A knock disturbed the king, preventing him from finishing his sentence. Elia cared not to hear it. 

“Not now!” Rhaegar barked out, absentmindedly stroking Elia’s hand as he remained crouched in front of her. She wanted to snatch it away, but could not find it in her, to be so cruel. _He deserves it,_ a corner of her mind whispered. The other side of the door remained as quiet as death but Elia could see the twisting of the doorknob. _Who would dare spite the king?_ She wondered. Elia dared but she was also a queen and had taken too many of his slights, to remain silent. 

“I though-” the woman stopped dead in her tracks, when she saw the King crouched in front of Elia of Dorne. A babe lay squalling in her arms _… Aegon?_ The queen wondered until she saw the hair, a dark color, darker than Elia’s soft shade of brown. Rhaegar looked distressed as he gazed warily at the both of them. That was when realisation struck the Dornish Princess. _This is Lyanna Stark, is it not?_ It was, the long face, dark hair and grey eyes bore testament toward the assumption. _That means…. He received his third head. The child bore a child._ The entire situation was so morbidly amusing, that the queen would have laughed if she had not been so wroth. 

“I thought you were alone,” the girl whispered and looked almost frightened of Elia. _That is the least you can be, if not sorry,_ The Princess of Dorne found herself thinking, cruelly. 

“Elia, meet-” Rhaegar began.

“Lyanna of House Stark,” the queen finished, coldly. The she-wolf smiled shyly and looked as young as the first day Elia laid her eyes upon her. _What was she? A girl of five-and-ten?_

"You brought your paramour and bastard to court?” Elia asked and Rhaegar shook his head. 

“Lyanna is my Queen and Aemon is my trueborn son, born within the bounds of marriage.” Rhaegar had risen, then, moving toward his young queen and Elia felt all the air escape the room. _Queen?_ She thought, erratically. _But that means...For him to wed another woman… Rhaenys and Aegon--bastards?_ She could not breathe.

“You bastardised your own children? The ones you so desperately craved, the ones I almost died to give you?” her voice was a shrill, crazed scream. She had allowed many things but this, this… she could not take. 

“No, no-” he began but was silenced by the Dornishwoman. 

“How dare you?” she fumed. The wolf-girl remained as still as a weirwood tree, clutching her babe tightly. 

“You misunderstand me, Elia!” Rhaegar raised his voice, silencing her anger. She eyed him with angry, dark eyes. 

“Lyanna is my queen and so are you. All of our children remain trueborn.” The revelation stunned her into silence. 

“That is against the Andal laws,” Elia found herself saying, after a few moments. 

“We are not Andals. Lyanna is of the First Men, you are Rhoynar and I am Valyrian. Aegon took both his sisters to wife. It is not for men to judge.” 

“We are not your sisters,” Elia snapped.

“No you are not.” The words hung heavy between them. _Neither of us would be standing here, were he to have had sisters._

“Will you set aside Aegon for this babe? To take his rightful claim?” Elia asked, sharply.

“What? No. Aegon is in line to the throne, he has always been. I would never dream of robbing him of his birthright.” Rhaegar sounded incredulous in regard to her questions but she needed to know. To know if she should have her brothers rally Dorne, for Aegon’s cause.

“You almost robbed both of them, of their lives. Forgive me for not trusting you, any longer.” After that, she rose dignitantly and moved toward Rhaegar. 

“Make no mistake. Rhaenys is for Aegon and I will be damned if you betrothe my daughter to this pup.” She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. It hurt the mother within her, to scorn a babe in arms, who looked to barely be a fortnight old. Elia did not allow the way Lyanna’s eyes narrowed and the room’s temperature turning ever colder, to go unnoticed. 

“Alright,” Rhaegar allowed, quietly. In the beginning, the queen had been disgusted by the Targaryens habits to wed brother to sister. After sometime, however, she accepted that it was just a way of their life. None of her words or pleas would make it go away, so she made peace with it, in her heart. _They are more gods than men,_ she comforted herself. 

“I also wish to travel for Dorne,” Elia said, suddenly. To be completely honest, the Dornishwoman had not thought of travelling to her home, until this very moment. 

“There is something you need to be made aware of, Elia,” Rhaegar replied, gently, ignoring her request. The Dornishwoman laughed a harsh laugh. “What can that possibly be? I feel as if I have been enlightened by the gods, all in this very room.” Her words were as scornful as she felt. 

“Your uncle, Prince Lewyn,” Rhaegar began and Elia stilled. _No, not him. Not my kind uncle._ Tears burned beneath her dark eyelashes and threatened to spill, for she knew what her husband was to say, before he said it. 

“He fought valiantly but was slain in the battle at the Trident.” 

“The one you made possible,” Elia sneered, tearfully. “He would still be here, were it not for you. And her!” Elia pointed toward the Northern girl with shaking hands. 

“I can never apologise enough for the pain I have caused you, Elia.” 

“On that much, we both agree.” All the anger, the rage and sorrow had taken its toll on the Dornishwoman, she yearned for rest. To forget all of this horrid reality. 

“I wish to go to Dorne,” the oldest queen spoke, once again. 

“We will speak of this matter later, Elia.” Rhaegar sounded as weary as he looked. 

“Alright but promise me one thing.” Rhaegar’s eyes lit up. 

“Anything.” 

“Pardon Ser Jaime.” The king frowned and stroked his clean-shaven chin. 

“I was thinking of allowing him to take the black.” 

“No.” Elia’s voice was Valyrian steel. “He is a young, promising man and he saved your childrens’ lives. My life.” 

“I know, Elia but I cannot allow such a crime to go unpunished. It will reflect badly on me, as king. People might conspire.” 

“They always conspire. If you need sentence a Lannister, then where was Lord Tywin? What part did he play in all of this? I am sure Lord Varys has answers. Leave Jaime be. Rhaenys is fond of him and so am I.” 

“Are you now?” Rhaegar asked, queerly. 

“Do not give me that look. Not after you shamed and scorned me, you have no right,” her voice broke at the ends and Rhaegar nodded, somberly. Even throughout all his actions, Rhaegar remained fond of his first wife, one may even say that he loved her, in his own special way. Nonetheless, it hurt him to see her in pain, the pain he caused her. 

“Make him Rhaenys’s sworn shield,” Elia found herself saying. “Say that he can be our daughter’s shield and may return to serve in the Kingsguard, in a decade. Let him keep the cloak but call it a suspension, until further notice. That is a sort of punishment, is it not?” the Dornish Queen asked. Her husband mulled over her words for a while, until finally nodding.

“Alright.” Rhaegar replied. “It is the least I can do.” 

“The very least.”

On her way out of the chamber, she passed the wolf girl who was still, mercifully silent. Out of sheer curiosity, Elia turned to look at the babe, who was gazing at her queerly. It made her smile. 

“So you are Aemon?” she asked the babe. “A beautiful name,” she finished and noted that he had the grey eyes of his mother, as well. An unwelcome, spiteful happiness bloomed in her chest, she willed it to go away but it remained. _The babe looks like him, not. Rhaenys has the purple eyes and Aegon is purely a Targaryen, through and through. I managed to give him, what this girl failed._ She knew that the thought should not bring her pleasure but in some horrible way, it did. 

Lyanna stark smiled but it looked worried. As if the Dornishwoman’s unpredictability was gnawing on her, frightening her a little. 

“I would never harm you or yours, child,” Elia found herself telling the girl. “We do not hurt little girls or children, in Dorne.” A willfulness appeared in the northern queen’s grey eyes.

“I am not a girl.” 

“Oh yes but you are,” the older queen sighed, sadly. “At heart,” “No woman would do this,” she shook her head sorrowfully.

Then Elia murmured for Rhaegar to bring the children to her, before they retire to bed. _I wish to kiss them goodnight but I must be alone, now. To grieve, to rage, to hurt._ That is exactly what the Dornishwoman did, once she reached her chambers. She wept for her uncle, who was too young to die. For his children in Dorne and his paramour. Then she raged and tore at the sheets, threw books from their shelves and cried angry tears, all because of Rhaegar’s despicable actions. After her tears had ran their course, only the hurt remained and thankfully, it only plagued her for a short while, until an exhausted, dreamless sleep claimed her. 

She woke when the sun was almost setting in the west. _I slept too long,_ she thought and hoped that her children had not retired to their beds yet. _Rhaegar would wake me, he would, if they were to._ Yet… did she truly know the man anymore? How he would act? _I never thought he would leave the children and I, or father a second son with another woman._ Her husband was different, it was in his eyes. The way he carried himself, so powerfully, so righteously as if he had suffered for this. _Maybe he did, but no more than anyone else did._ The wolf-girl and King Rhaegar had gotten off lightly. _Easier than Rhaella did, easier than I and all those other corpses, whose names have receded and I cannot quite recall._

Her stomach craved food but she could not fathom herself to eat, not this night. Instead, she removed the constricting gown that she had fallen asleep in and donned a flowing, red robe, made of Myrish silk and Lysene satin. It clashed so beautifully with her warm skin but she only chose it for comfort, as she would have a bath, later in the eve. _After Rhaegar bring Aegon and Rhaenys._ Elia decided to read, to busy her mind, lest she thinks of her uncle Lewyn and all those who died but deserved to live. 

It would not take long, for her husband to arrive with her children in tow. 

“Elia,” she heard her husband call softly, from behind the wooden door. Rising, she returned the volume of Aegon’s Conquest to its rightful place, in the intricately carved bookshelf.

“Mama!” Her daughter squealed and jumped into the queen’s arms, as soon as Elia had opened the door. Rhaegar laughed lightly and kissed Aegon atop his head with a father’s love. There was no doubt in her mind that her husband loved his children dearly. _But he loved his prophecies more,_ she thought in dismay. 

“Are you off to bed now, my girl?” Elia asked, embracing Rhaenys tightly. Her daughter turned to her with watery, lavender eyes. 

“I want to stay with you and papa,” she whimpered. It hurt Elia, to have to wean her children off of her, but she knew that it was necessary. 

“You are a big girl now, my sweet. Balerion will warm you and I shall see you in the morn. Are you not a fierce dragon?” Her daughter nodded fervently and kissed Elia’s cheeks, then burying her head, in the crook of her mother’s neck. The action warmed the Dornishwoman’s heart. 

Aegon was gazing at his mother, reaching his chubby little arms toward her. 

“Come here, my boy,” Elia whispered sweetly and Rhaegar handed her their son, ever so gently. Her son giggled as the queen peppered kisses all over his face and then she turned to look at Rhaegar. There was something in his eyes, a tenderness, the ever-present melancholy, hidden beneath a layer of guilt. They shared a soft smile, not of forgiveness or affection, but of a parent’s undying love. _We created this and for that, I shall be ever grateful._

“I wish to speak with you, after we hand the children to the nurse.” Elia pursed her lips. _Do I have the strength for more conversation? For new, poisonous surprises._ The queen needed time to process his revelations. _Time to mull over his second marriage, how to dissuade Oberyn from killing him and to come to terms with it, myself._

“As you wish, My King.” A hopelessness touched his eyes. The one that was never far away from hers, anymore.

“You needn’t call me that, when we are alone. I am your equal.” _Was I your equal when you left me with your madman of a father, as well? When you decided to fuck a northern girl and beget a child on her, before deciding to make her queen, as well?_

Melly walked toward them, from the other side of the hall. 

“M’queen, m’king,” the amiable woman greeted. 

“Melly,” Elia responded with a smile. 

“M’here to take the children to the nursery.” Elia gently released Rhaenys to the ground and handed a fussing Aegon to the wet-nurse’s warm embrace.

“Be good,” the queen told her daughter, who nodded. 

“Let us depart, princess,” Melly told the young Rhaenys, grabbing her hand. “Balerion’s waitin’ for ya’.” That garnered a smile from Elia’s daughter. 

Rhaegar stood waiting, anxiously beside her. He looked taller than she remembered, dwarfing her with his presence, the Dornish princess barely reached her husband’s shoulders and he was large in body, as well. Lean and muscled, with an easy grace. Once she had loved that about him, his vigor and dedication, the way he would love her so tenderly. Now it brought her unease, to know he had bedded a girl ten years Elia’s junior. _He has eight years on her, she is still half a child._ How his slender fingers and lips had touched the Stark girl’s skin, as well. 

Standing aside, Elia waited for Rhaegar to enter. Ser Arthur was there by the door, as well, in his white cloak. There was sadness in his eyes, as he looked at her. _Good, it is only a speck of what I felt._ However, the want in his violet eyes, did not fall unnoticed by the Dornish queen either. Once it would have made her blush. _When we were younger and in Dorne._ Now it did nothing, it was as if some part of her heart had been torn to pieces, never to be whole again. Elia was tired of men, weary to the core. 

The hearth was burning, the wood crackling comfortingly and warming the room. Rhaegar sat down on one of the plush chairs in front of it, beckoning Elia to do the same. She obeyed with a queenly grace and crossed her legs, her shapely calves on display. It was not done on purpose but still, it garnered a look from her husband. 

“You look beautiful,” he said, quietly. The truth was, that she did. With her long, dark hair flowing down her back and shoulders, in soft curls, the same as Princess Rhaenys’s. 

“Thank you, My King,” Elia replied, courteously. She heard him sigh and then he rubbed his face, wearily. 

“Please, just call me Rhaegar,” he begged the Dornishwoman. As if her saying his name would diminish his guilt, in some way. 

“I wish to return to Dorne,” she spoke, instead, ignoring his pleas. “You have a queen remaining here, you need me not.” Her husband reached out to touch her hand but she snatched it away, as if he was fire, coming for her blood. _He has the audacity to look wounded._

“Of course I need you, Elia. You are just as much my queen, as Lyanna is.” 

“Oh, am I?” she asked scornfully, pleading with her heart to calm itself. 

“Yes.” 

“It is too early to travel to Dorne, you must understand. My throne still rests upon quicksand, I must show the kingdoms, that I am not my father. To do so, I will need a strong and united front. With both my queens and all of my children.” 

“They know already, Rhaegar,” she spoke softly. _Please, I need this. To get out of this viper’s nest._ For Queen Elia to be free, she needed to leave. 

“Not now, My Queen. Perhaps when we make the royal progress.” 

“Aegon and Rhaenys will need to meet their family,” the queen replied, sharply. 

“They have family here, Elia. Rhaenys dotes on Aemon, as she does Aegon.” 

“Is that supposed to endear me?” the Dornishwoman scoffed, even though her gentle heart warmed at the thought. 

“I must needs calm Oberyn’s rash heart. Doran may be wroth, as well.” 

Rhaegar frowned at that. 

“Your younger brother does have a temper,” he replied, rubbing his forehead in a tired manner. _Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Shall wear the crown, he is not yet crowned._

“Yes, which is why I need to leave, when the time is ripe.” 

“No. If you leave then it will have to be after the coronation. At least a moon’s turn after.” Elia frowned but she was desperate and would accept any bargain. 

The Dornishwoman was about to reply when Rhaegar spoke again.

“On one condition.” 

“What?” she asked, feverishly. _Anything to leave, anything!_

“The children remain here.” Her heart sank in her chest. _No, I will not leave them. They are as much Dornish as they are Valyrian._

“Why?” Elia inquired, steel lacing the edges of her words. 

“I do not trust you,” he admitted and rage began bubbling within her.

“You do not trust me with my own children?” Rhaegar’s eyes widened then and he hurried to speak. 

“I do, you are one of the finest mothers I have ever known, my gentle Elia. However, you are angry and hurt. It grieves me to say it, but it was done by my own hand. I can never apologise enough to make it alright, I am aware.” His voice was sad now, _almost like when he sings._

“Yet... there is no guarantee that you will bring them back. You are gentle and warm but I fear that your rage will make you commit a folly.”

“Like you did? Because of your damned prophecies?” 

“I deserved that,” he smiled, so sadly. 

“This realm does not need to be torn apart by another war. It is time to rebuild, to seal weeping wounds.” _What about my wounds? Will they lay and fester until an infection claims them?_

“I would never use my children as pawns, in a game of Cyvasse,” Elia let out, furiously. _He thinks this little of me?_

“I know in my heart that you would not. Yet people may whisper in your ear, especially Prince Oberyn. As king, I simply cannot take the risk. Their visit to Dorne will have to wait until we can join you, as well.” 

“You would bring the wolf-girl to my home? Have you not scorned me enough? By taking her to my place of birth, safe and swollen with child. As I was here, in a foreign land with two babes at my arms and a madman peering down at me, from a throne of lies and blood.” 

“I cannot ask for your forgiveness-”

“Good. You do not have it.” Her words were spoken softly and quietly, full of a raw pain. _I never wished it to be like this. You willed it so, I am afraid, Rhaegar. This rift between us is courtesy of you. The girl played her part, as well._

“We will visit Dorne, My Queen. In due time, I will never deny you that.” A tear escaped his eyes. She almost wished to comfort him. Almost. _Where was he when Lord Varys visited me? When Aerys threatened me and I had no ally but my children._

“When will Ser Jaime be pardoned?” Elia found herself asking. 

“On the morrow, when the first of the lords will emerge, to swear fealty to me. I will absolve him of his crimes and make him Rhaenys’s sworn shield. I promised you that.” 

“Good,” Elia found herself smiling, the littlest of bit. After that, there was silence until Rhaegar broke it.

“You are a great mother to our children, Elia. I thank the gods each day, that they have you.” The compliment warmed her heart, which was covered in a sheet of ice.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my children.” 

“They are our children, Elia,” her husband said, looking plagued with melancholy. 

“They stopped being your children, when you left them to die,” The queen replied quietly. Her words were haunting but there was a strength to them, a perseverance. _I made it, and so did they._

“Please, that is enough, Elia.” 

“It will never be enough,” she began. “Not for the pain you caused. The girl is young but that does not absolve her of any guilt, either.” Suddenly Rhaegar stood up and moved toward her, then he crouched down and put his head in her lap. _He is weeping,_ the Dornish queen realised. 

“None of my words will ever be enough,” he choked out and she saw the tears, glistening and wet on his cheeks. She despised the way her weak heart wished to hold him, to comfort him-- to stroke that silver-gold hair, the way she did Aegon and Rhaenys’s. 

“I will do everything I can, for you to understand how sorry I am. It was not supposed to turn out like this.”

“No,” Elia began. “Alas it was an Aemon, not a Visenya. What does your prophecies say of that?” Her husband quieted and looked toward her with gleaming, indigo eyes.

“I do not know where it all went wrong,” he whispered, so brokenly. “I thought I had it all right. The comet, the bleeding star.”

“It all went amiss when you began trusting these fickle prophecies of salt and smoke, sacrificing not only your life, but others’, as well, to please it.” Finally, she relented, stroking his hair softly as he clambered on to her, as a dying man would, life. 

“I will stay with you but I simply cannot forgive you,” Elia whispered. “I fear I shall never be the same again.” 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” her husband asked himself. He felt so unworthy, and justly so. That she was not cursing him, having her brothers rally their armies or stealing away in the midst of the night with their children, was a miracle. King Rhaegar was in awe of her strength, how she had persevered through it all. There were moments when the Dornishwoman broke down, when it had all been too much to take. He took her ire, with no complaints. The king knew that he had earned it, after all. All Rhaegar wished for, was that she would be able to forgive him, in the future. For his queens to get along and be amiable, for their children to live in harmony. What a long way they had left, to go. 

Then, the king moved to kiss her and Elia Martell stiffened. His lips were still as soft, the groan at the back of his throat, still the same. He was so similar, yet so different. It felt pleasant, the queen was not going to lie. His hands on her, gently caressing, the hot breaths tickling her neck. How he utterly embraced her, with his entire being.

However, when she opened her eyes, all she saw was her children. Wounded and bleeding crimson. Their shrill voices called for her. _Save us, help us!_ Then they stilled and were brought in front of the throne, bruised and bloodied. It was too much to take. 

“Stop,” she gasped. “Stop!” the woman repeated, again. “Stop.” Tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. 

“What is wrong?” Rhaegar asked, alarmed. _Oh, there is so much wrong. How could I allow this? I promised myself that I would not bend in his arms._ It was not that she necessarily craved Rhaegar or that her heart bled with love for him. _I loved him once, but now? Where is my heart in all of this?_ Queen Elia was lonely. She craved love, affection. To have someone else hold the reins and simply allow her to be. 

“I cannot,” she whispered. The beautiful man frowned.

“Why?” _Oh, there are so many reasons why._

“Because all I see when I look at you, is our children. Dead and bloodied and bruised, in front of that cursed throne-- wrapped in those gods-forsaken cloaks, with another king glaring down at them. I hear them screaming, Rhaegar. I hear their pleading and whimpering. It was all so close to happening.” The queen was almost sobbing, the image tearing at her soul, shredding her being into pieces. 

Even Rhaegar was silently weeping. Crystal-like tears, slipping past a pale cheek and then the other. The king rose, silently and sniffled before clearing his throat. 

“It has been an eventful day, My Queen. I hope sleep brings you more comfort than I am able.” Then he moved to depart, his silvery hair glistening in the light of the moon that had risen, high up in the night-sky. 

“I will always be here for you, Elia. Know that, please. Whatever you need,” Rhaegar said quietly before she heard the door close. It was time to bathe, yet she could barely bring herself to do it. The queen called for a servant and for a tub to be filled with water. _I hope I do not fall asleep in the bath, that would be most unfortunate._

The queen did not fall asleep but she was close to, once or twice. The warm water soothed her aching muscles and brought her a sense of peace, of serenity. Elia felt weightless, almost trouble-free, for those fleeting moments. She washed her hair quickly along with her body, then she rose and dried herself. 

Her bed seemed colder now, without anyone in it. There was no Aegon for her to hold in her arms, no Rhaenys to embrace Elia tightly. No man to hug her as if she was the most precious item in the known world. Or woman, for that matter. Elia was never picky. _Feeling wanted and loved does not have to entail sex and seduction, it is time people learned._

 _At least Rhaenys will have Jaime back. He is a young man and does not deserve to pay for his act of heroism,_ she found herself thinking. _Yet what made him come to that decision? What did Aerys wish to do?_

Perhaps she’d come to know. 

Queen Elia Martell fell asleep, dreading what things would come to be. 

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Oh, the pain of reminiscence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You need to be careful, Elia. Jaime is a knight of the kingsguard and your daughter’s sworn shield but he is still a Lannister. I have heard whispers of what Lord Tywin had plan-”  
> “Planned for us? The ones you left here, to receive the ire of the king and those plans? Ser Jaime has proved more loyal than any of you lot.” She did not wish to be wroth, not now.  
> “He broke his vows,” Arthur’s voice was hard as stone.  
> “You all did!” she raised her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here's the (even longer!) third chapter. 
> 
> Before you start reading, I would like to respond to some comments i'd got more generally and give some insight that could be good, for when you read this chapter. 
> 
> Chapter: This chapter offers more than the regular "just Elia" side of things. We see some other people and the narrator expresses how they feel, regarding certain things. (This is clearly marked by different pronouns and the characters' names being written. Think of it as all thought working in tandem)
> 
> The thoughts are and always will be Elia's, though. The flashback that is seen, is marked by the horizontal lines and it may seem of no importance, but it serves a purpose that I hope you notice. It serves to add complexity to what it is Elia is feeling, why she cannot go "all in" or cross certain lines, even in her anger. I hope it gives something rarely seen and shows how the past affects the future, no matter how much you wish it doesn't. 
> 
> Comments: Thank you all for the encouraging, kind comments, I absolutely adore reading them. I am sorry that I haven't replied to any yet, but do not feel disheartened, keep leaving them, I appreciate them and you guys so much. I have simply been busy writing this very long chapter. 
> 
> Some of you asked: Do I think Rhaegar ran away solely in regards to the prophecy, or did he love her at all in my story? A complex question that requires a complex answer, I am afraid. Rhaegar was ever the strange man and I can't claim to know the mind of him, I can only try to do him justice. So according to me: Rhaegar may have been fond of Lyanna and loved her in his own way but did the man ever truly love something, fiercely and passionately? Did he have it in him? I don't know about that. This man was burdened with glorious purpose, there is little time for love in such, I fear.
> 
> Also gonna mention @Fataizi 's lovely comment spoofing Rhaegar and Elia, which honestly made my night, y'all are hilarious, don't ever stop.
> 
> To the ones asking: you will find out why I added the Elia/Arthur tag. in this chapter.
> 
> Anyway, it was super late when I finished this, so i'm sorry for any errors. I just hope it's not shit because y'all have been really supportive and kind in regards to my story and I feel like i'll ruin it and I just don't wanna let you guys down *cries in the corner* 
> 
> please leave a kudos if you enjoyed it and comment down below, cause i'm a sucker for those <3

Elia was quietly watching her daughter sing to a sleepy Aegon, when she heard a knock upon the door.  _ I am not dressed for visitors, _ Elia found herself thinking. Then the Dornish queen wondered who stood behind the wooden door, as she had claimed an indisposition because she did not want to attend King Rhaegar and Queen Lyanna, this day.  _ He is pardoning the lords today _ and the thought was unsettling. 

The truth of the matter is that Elia was not ill. She simply could not and would not stand there, to look upon the faces of all those who had doomed them to die. Their fighting would not only have cost the lives of Queen Elia and her children, but most like Dowager Queen Rhaella and the remaining Targaryens’, as well. Poor Viserys who had not yet lived, the babe growing within his mother.  _ They will not lose any sleep over it, I am sure. They’ll receive their pardon from the oh, so benevolent king and be on their merry way. Home to their wives and children whose lives were never in any peril. A hostage or two will be given to the crown, some lands and titles stripped but that is all they will pay for the cost of their betrayal. _

The thought of having to act amiable with Rhaegar and his young queen in front of court, did not sit well with Elia, either. He denied her request to travel to Dorne.  _ I know why he did it, yet I still wish he had not. _ Queen Elia of all, was weary of the war, the bloodshed, the casualties and the fear. Angry, she was, but not angry enough to start another war, to steal her children away from their father. _ I suppose this is what it takes to be king, to rule. _ The Dornishwoman earnestly hoped that her king of a husband would keep his promise, that in due time, they would travel to Sunspear.  _ Oberyn will not take kindly to the northern girl, I am sure, but he will have to choke on his tongue, this once, I fear. _ She would do all in her power, to dissuade Rhaegar from bringing Lyanna.  _ The people of Dorne will spit upon her, as she passes them by. They do not forget.  _

The knock was heard again and brought Elia out of her raging thoughts. 

“Yes, enter,” she called absentmindedly, as she wrapped her orange robe tighter around her body. Rhaenys had begun prodding at her brother, almost waking him from his slumber.

“No, Rhaenys, let him sleep. The gods know it took him long enough to enter it, in the first place,” Elia whispered. Princess Rhaenys pouted but moved away from her brother’s cot, duly. 

A sound of clinking armor made the queen avert her eyes from the Princess and look upward, instead. 

“Ser Jaime,” she breathed and stood up to greet him, offering her hand. The knight kissed it dutifully and smiled but it looked empty, somehow. Rhaenys was a blur of brown and blue, as she ran to clamber atop the Lannister’s legs. 

“My Queen, My little Princess,” he greeted with soft eyes, of the purest emerald. Then, Ser Jaime picked Princess Rhaenys up and placed her in his arms. The girl clung onto his neck and buried her face in his golden curls, mumbling of how she had missed him. 

“I have missed you, as well, princess,” Jaime murmured, stroking her daughter’s back, comfortingly. Some would have been unnerved, by the familiarity which Ser Jaime greeted the Targaryen princess, how it was almost akin to an uncle’s gentleness, or even a father’s. Elia was not fazed, however.  _ It is good that she has someone other than Rhaegar. _ Prince Viserys was on Dragonstone, Aegon too little to take on the role of brotherly protectiveness.  _ Oberyn is not here, so Jaime will do just as well. _

“What occurred betwixt you and the king?” Elia found herself asking. He turned his cat-like eyes upon her and spoke. 

“The King offered me two choices. To take the black or swear allegiance to the crown, once again, renew my vows and pledge myself to serve as Princess Rhaenys’s shield until he deems me worthy of joining the Kingsguard on active duty. He said Kingsguard serve for life, after all.” 

“I trust you made the correct choice?” Elia asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Else, I would not be standing here, My Queen. I would most like be on a mule, on the way to freeze my arse off, in the cold and dismal north. Alas, it was not a prospect my arse or I, would be inclined toward engaging in.” Ser Jaime covered Rhaenys’s ears before he swore and winked at Elia. The princess simply giggled. “And I have a fondness for the princess. I trust she shall be a benevolent liege, will you not?” he smiled as he loudly whispered into the little girl’s ears. 

“Yes,” The girl giggled. 

“I assume I will feel Balerion’s hot fires, if I am not satisfactory enough?” 

“Balerion!” the girl squealed, squirming in Jaime’s grasp, for him to let her down.

“Mama, can I look for Balerion?” Her doe, lavender eyes were pleading and Elia could not resist. 

“Only if Melly is free to join you. I will not have you wandering the keep alone and I must needs exchange a few words with Ser Jaime.” the knight looked at her questioningly. 

The wet-nurse had just finished a feeding and was more than obliged to join Princess Rhaenys, in her quest to find Balerion, the kitten who was no longer quite a kitten. Aegon was still resting in his cot, too young to understand the words that were to be spoken.  _ It is a kindness, for him to have been an infant at the time of this tragedy and horror. _ Elia beckoned Ser Jaime to sit down and he obeyed with a cat-like grace. 

“You may remove your breastplate, if it is a discomfort to you,” The Dornishwoman said with a soft frown. 

“How would I protect you then, My Queen? They should simply poke me full of holes,” the man said with a teasing smile. 

“Alright then,” she said and clasped her hands together, not quite sure on what she wished to say.  _ My mind is full of words but why won’t any of them come out?  _

“I hope the court is not treating you too horribly,” Elia allowed. 

“They are but sheep,” he waved off, so indifferently. However, she saw something in his eyes, an emptiness swirling around.  _ A thought of how he was destined for greatness, yet ultimately doomed to always be known as the Kingslayer, hereafter. _ The queen could restore honors and titles, with the help of her husband but she could not sway the minds of men, who had already fashioned their opinions.  _ None of them will ever know what it was truly like, so how come they are allowed to pass judgement?  _

“Why did you do it?” her voice was quiet, searching. It seemed almost forbidden to ask. Ser Jaime took long moments to reply, turning ever more melancholy as the moments passed. 

“They all look at me, you know. They spit out the words ‘Kingslayer’ as if a curse. The ones who do not speak, say it with their eyes.” his powerful words resonated with her, on some queer level.  _ The way Aerys would complain of Rhaenys smelling Dornish, how some lords and ladies would look at me, as if I was less than them. _ Elia nodded a beckoning for him to continue. 

“The whole realm knew he was mad, yet now they pretend he wasn’t. After I killed him. They knew not of his ploys, his twisted mind and what he would do to his own queen. A dragon he was, aye, the most horrid and cruelest of them all. No man would commit such gruesome acts unless he was indeed a beast, within.” The young man’s hand was trembling against his lap, as he recalled the things he had seen, what he failed to stop. Comfortingly, Elia placed her hand atop his, to calm their erratic movements. Green eyes glanced upward and this time, she noted that they were brimming with tears. 

“Burn them all, he chanted. He would not stop. King Aerys thought Rhaegar to be dead, for some queer reason and ordered that Prince Viserys be crowned king, on Dragonstone. Rossart was discussing the substance, how it had been placed in caches, all over King’s Landing.” Elia gasped, putting a hand on her heart, to steady her breath. 

“He was going to kill us all?” Ser Jaime nodded, still glancing at the tiles of marble that graced the floor. 

“Man, woman or child. Let Robert be the king of ashes and charred bones, he said. You see, he believed that through the flames, he would be reborn as a dragon, to breathe his fire atop all those rebels and traitors. I could not allow it. Princess Rhaenys was a girl of three, Prince Aegon barely more than a babe in arms. You, a wronged woman who had no part in this treachery. Then I thought that there were thousands upon thousands more, of you. In their little holdfasts, blissfully unaware of their impending deaths. I may despise this sty of a city but I could not leave it to burn.” His eyes looked cloudy with the fog of remembrance, of pain and a little bit of fear. 

“I did not wish to die either,” Ser Jaime finished, truthfully. Queen Elia had tears running down her cheeks.  _ He sent Rhaella and Viserys to life, but doomed his own son’s children and their mother, to burn?  _

“So you killed him?” 

“Stabbed him in the back and slit his throat. Dragon, knight, wolf or boar, they all bleed the same well of crimson. They submit to the sharp edge of a blade, all the same.” Jaime sounded so haunted by it all, so distraught.  _ He is a man of seven-and-ten, is he not? Too young to have witnessed this horror, to have partaken in it.  _

“You saved us all,” she replied tearfully, squeezing his hand. 

“Not all share that sentiment, My Queen,” Ser Jaime smiled ruefully. As if it was all some sick and twisted jest. 

“Nothing I say could change the scorn you will face but know this; Each time you look upon Rhaenys, Aegon or I, know that we are here, in thanks to you. Hear her laughter, rejoice in it. Be there as my children grow into adults, knowing you willed it so. Watch me turn into an old crone and find comfort in that you allowed me to.” Her words were burning, sincere and heartfelt, all at the same time. Jaime Lannister found himself wondering how someone could be so selfless. After all, he had only ever bothered to know Cersei and no one could describe her as a humble lady. 

“You are young, still, My Queen,” Jaime smiled. “It will be long before you are a crone.”

“Oh but I am old,” she laughed and tried to have the earlier thoughts of Aerys, death and doom, begone from her mind. It was clear that Jaime did not wish to further speak on it. 

“Not in spirit and neither in body,” the knight said, with a frightening intensity. 

“Oh you flatter me, Ser Jaime, the ever gallant knight.” A darkness appeared in his eyes, then.  _ People must make jests of him, using such words. _ It had not been the Dornishwoman’s intent to slight. She meant it, even as light-hearted banter.  _ He is more gallant than Arthur was, protecting the she-wolf. _ The look was gone in an instance, however, as if it never was.

Then, Ser Jaime eyed her with wariness. It looked as if he wished to speak, but was afraid that it might not be his place. He was a knight, after all and in the presence of a queen. 

“You may speak plainly, Ser Jaime,” Elia smiled encouragingly. He smiled nervously and seemed to be gathering his words, searching for a way to formulate it. 

“I am sorry,” he said, finally. 

“Why?” she asked, confused as to the sudden outburst. “You have not wronged me, Ser.” 

“For... For King Rhaegar’s actions, along with Queen Lyanna’s.” 

“Oh.” She did not quite know how to respond.  _ Of course he knows, everyone knows. _

“I needn’t your sympathy, Ser Jaime,” Elia said, not unkindly. Her hand was still on his and none of them had moved to retract either. 

“It is not sympathy, My Queen, it is empathy. You are a strong woman, a viper of Dorne, you need no one’s tainted sympathies and false words of comfort.” A soft smile graced Elia’s features, then. 

“It is life, we must needs make due with it.” 

“I trust you had some choice words to offer the king and queen,” Ser Jaime spoke with an easy grace and then he remembered that he was with a queen, not some gossiping ladies. 

“Forgive me, I overst-” 

“It is quite alright, Ser Jaime,” she laughed. “I did.” Both of them shared a secretive smile, full of mischief. 

As if one of them had not slain a king and the other, almost perished. 

A soft cry brought them back to their realities.

“Shall we inquire on my Rhaenys and Balerion, now that Aegon has woken?” 

“I think we should.” 

Unbeknownst to Queen Elia and Ser Jaime, a sort of kindred bond had begun to take root, deep within them both.

***

The days leading up to Rhaegar’s coronation passed surprisingly quickly. Elia had committed to a routine, of sorts. Firstly, she would have her children brought to her, so that they could break their fast together. Once or twice, Rhaegar joined as well but he never brought the wolf-girl. The King knew that it would pour salt into Elia’s wounds, to see the living proof of what shook their lives from its holdfasts and almost succeeded in bringing upon their doom. Rhaegar was not blind toward his wife’s pains but knew that there was no comfort that he could bring her, no sweet or kind words for him to offer. 

The queen remained amiable during these encounters, for she did not wish Rhaenys to begin harboring resentment for her father.  _ Children may be at the cusp of youth, far from understanding the intricacies of life-- yet if I continually scorn Rhaegar, she will learn to do so, as well. _ The princess was ever her father’s daughter, though that didn’t mean that she would not come to her mother’s defence, should she suspect Elia of being hurt or sad. There was such a humility in her daughter, an ever giving spirit-- not unlike her namesake of old. 

After all Rhaegar had done to her, the slights, the betrayal, the scorn and general unthoughtfulness as to what would become of them, in his chase for those shadows he called prophecies; Elia could not rob her children of their father. Other women would have tried to make their children scorn such a man, to offer them nothing but the potion of hatred and an ugly truth. The Dornishwoman would do no such thing.  _ As long as he treats them according to their worth and love them with all of his wretched heart, he shall face no obstacles from me. _ She was kinder than that, her heart was not fashioned to hate. 

After the breaking of their fasts, she would take her children out on a stroll. Ser Jaime would accompany them and they would speak about matters of little importance. Then, Elia would have Melly take the children to the nursery and make her appearance in court, converse with some of the ladies and uphold all that was required of her, as queen. Thereafter, the time for supper came and then she retired to her cold and lonely bed. Of course, some variations occurred, in-between her days. 

_ Today is the day, I am to be queen. Crowned alongside Rhaegar and that girl.  _ She did not know how to feel, regarding that prospect. In truth, Elia had not felt very different.  _ The only thing worth noting, is that they’ve stopped calling me princess. The work is heavier and more exhausting, yet I welcome these distractions. _ It helped her to take her mind off all that had passed and her foreign surroundings, of Arthur’s small glances in her direction, Rhaegar’s somber eyes that begged forgiveness, Lyanna and her babe, strolling around the keep. 

_ I have nothing against Aegon and Rhaenys getting to know their brother. _ The boy was Rhaegar’s seed and not a threat to his older brother’s crown. _ It is all I asked for my son, his birthright. _ That child had not committed any grave a crime, no more than Tyrion the young boy had, or her Aegon and Rhaenys. _ It is not our fault, what we are born, or who we are born. We are thrown into the world, for better or for worse. With a good name or a bad one, a good body, or a strange one. _

Elia had not forgotten that she was born prematurely, frail and weak. It haunted her life. Sometimes in the dark, lonely nights; she would curse her body. For not being strong enough to bear him another child and spare them all of this trouble. See, Queen Elia knew what it was like to be stared at, to be mocked, humiliated and slighted. She would not wish it upon anyone, even less; a newly born babe. The Dornishwoman treated Lyanna with a cool courtesy, never would she be openly vindictive or strive for quarrels.  _ I am too old and battle-worn for childish squabbles, as long as she does not plot or whisper menacingly in Rhaegar’s ear, I shall stay out of her way.  _

For the ceremony, Elia had chosen a gown of lavender, which brought out the warm notes of her skin in a lovely way. It also reminded the queen of Rhaenys’s eyes, the color of a field with lavender flowers. A golden necklace, adorned with rubies graced her neck, alongside a bracelet of obsidian-colored pearls. The gown clung to her body and gave it an almost youthful glow. It reminded her of Ashara.  _ I miss her, _ the queen thought, sadly. 

Bearing two children had taken its toll on the Dornishwoman’s body. Yet not entirely in the negative manner that one would expect. Her hips had been small before, almost girlish, now they were wider and gave her an hourglass-like shape. She had never had a large bosom but neither was it small and she was quite satisfied with the fact that it had not changed much, either. 

However, stripes of white and red marked the inside of her thighs, the sides of her belly and the gods only knew, where else. Elia’s figure had been frail, almost gaunt before. Now, it was more filled out. Her stomach had remained flat, yet there was still an incessant outward leaning that bothered her. Grand Maester Pycelle had told her that it was normal, the muscles in her belly expanded to birth a child and they would never return to their truest form. The then-princess had taken it with resignation. After all, Rhaegar had been wont to take his pleasure in the dark and had never spoken of it. It almost made her laugh, now.  _ I do not care, it matters not, Rhaegar has the northern girl to content himself with. He needs me not.  _

Rhaegar still glanced at her body, even she noticed. Though few and less knew of that side to him. The realm saw King Rhaegar as melancholic, such a beautiful yet solemn man. He was not known to frequent brothels, nor to have bedded many a women-- he was too engrossed in his prophecies to do so. Yet after their wedding, the King soon found that he liked taking his pleasure, as much as the next man. Elia had not disappointed either, nor complained, for that matter. One could argue that the most sane aspect to their complex relationship, had been in the throes of their passion, the midst of their marriage-bed. 

He was a skilled man, she could not deny and those somber, indigo eyes could bring any maid to their knees. It still seemed as if he craved her, last week’s incident bore proof of that. A bitter thought gave its way into her head, however.  _ Mayhaps that was simply because the girl has recently borne a child and needed time to recover, so he searched to me for a carnal release. _ It made her frown and her heart grow heavy. She did not know what to think of anyone, any longer. It seemed everyone had hidden intentions, reasons for acting certain ways around her. Elia was not naive, it was the way of King’s Landing, yet it seemed there were more viper’s in this nest, now-- some with a familiar face.  _ It gives me a headache.  _

A sudden twinge of insecurity hit her, as Ser Jaime brought a newly-bathed and dressed Rhaenys to Elia’s chambers. 

“Mama looks pretty,” Rhaenys squealed to her white knight who nodded. Elia gazed at her own reflection, who seemed a stranger, almost. 

“Beautiful enough for a queen? I am sure the wolf-girl will surpass me. Age is only kind toward the young,” she sighed

Ser Jaime picked a fussing Aegon up from his cot and moved to hand him to Elia.

“You nee-”  _ I was going to fetch him, myself.  _ The knight handed Elia her son, tenderly.

“-You look perfect, a true queen, not a girl playing dress-up. Do not even ask that question here.” Sincerity burned in those emerald eyes. A blush heated her cheeks. It had been so long since anyone had paid her a compliment that was solely for her, it almost made her feel half a girl, again. 

“You are too kind to say so, Ser Jaime.” He only smiled, one would think it as arrogant, if she had not seen the softness that his eyes conveyed. 

“I assume the crown shall be bestowed upon me there.”  _ I hope that Rhaegar had it made accordingly, for it to fit my heritage. _ If not, she would not deign herself to wear it. Call it childish, rebellious or unbecoming, there were things she simply needed. For him to take her into account, for once. 

“That sounds apt and I believe that the king said so, himself.” 

“You spoke with Rhaegar?” 

“When Princess Rhaenys wished to see him, before our venture here.” 

At the mention of her daughter, Elia looked around the room for the mop of familiar, brown curls.  _ That darned cat that she loves so well. _

“Rhaenys, you will get hair on your dress, sweetling. Leave Balerion to his rest.” The sight did put a warm, radiant smile on the Dornishwoman’s face. 

“Come along, Princess. I, your noble steed is waiting.” Elia laughed and the princess giggled so fiercely, skipping to her white knight with glee. Ser Jaime bent down, his golden hair flickering in the light of the sun and her daughter climbed atop his back. 

“Let us depart, then,” Elia allowed, opening the chambers for the Lannister, as he was too preoccupied making sure that Rhaenys was steady and secure. A familiar sight greeted her, yet it was not welcome.  _ Not now.  _

“My Queen,” Ser Arthur said. “King Rhaegar has sent me to accompany you to the carriage. The King and Queen are waiting.” Displeasure graced the Dornish queen’s features and she frowned deeply. 

“Ser Jaime will do just fine.” “And I shall be riding in my own carriage alongside my children.” 

“It is the King’s order-”

“And I am queen.” Her words silenced him and he looked wary, unsure on what to do henceforth. Jaime stood awkwardly, still boasting the young princess on his back. Elia swore that she could almost witness Ser Arthur’s eyes narrowing, the slightest of bits.  _ You all knew Aerys was mad. Ser Jaime had more of a backbone than all of you, who stood by and allowed him to do what he did. Do not dare scorn him.  _

“There is surely an available carriage outside. Let us depart to check,” Ser Arthur finally spoke.

“We shall not be needing your services, Ser Arthur. Go protect Queen Lyanna instead, you did such a valiant job of it last time, I would not want to be a hindrance.” The Dornishwoman’s words were almost mocking, they burned him, she could see. The way her lost love looked so hopeless, so utterly sad. 

“The king commanded me to see you safely to the Sept Of Baelor,” Arthur said quietly. 

“Ser-” Elia began but Arthur interrupted her. _ If I had been any crueler a queen, I could have ordered his tongue for the insolence. _ Yet she was not cruel and Arthur knew. 

“-If you would simply allow me to do my duty, My Queen.” He sounded strained, almost vulnerable. The queen nodded, not wanting to argue any longer. 

Together, with Aegon in her arms, Rhaenys atop Ser Jaime’s back and Ser Arthur in front of them, they left for the exit of the Red Keep, where several carriages would await them. The young princess blathered on in her knight’s ear, unbeknownst toward the tension surrounding them all.  _ Oh, to be as naive and innocent as a child, again. _ Aegon would from time-to-time turn his purple eyes upon her brown ones and smile. It warmed her heart and gave her the strength to continue. 

Soon enough, they were outside with the blaring sun upon them and too many carriages to count. King Rhaegar’s was plain to spot. His was the only one who boasted only white horses, with ruby encrusted reins.  _ A bit too grandiose, wouldn’t you think? _ Elia murmured silently. It seemed like Ser Jaime had heard her, for he smiled the tiniest of fraction upon hearing the remark. 

King Rhaegar was standing by his carriage, speaking with the coachman in his lovely tunes. Queen Elia assumed that the Stark girl was inside with her babe. 

“Find us a carriage, Ser Arthur,” Elia spoke, her words as bland as unsweetened porridge. Rhaegar turned when he heard her voice and moved to greet her. 

“Elia, finally,” he smiled but she did not return it. 

“Papa!” Rhaenys squealed and her knight bent down, so the young princess could run into her father’s arms. 

“It was not so long ago that I saw you, my little dragon,” Rhaegar laughed melodically, as his daughter jumped into his arms. It was beautiful, the Dornishwoman had to admit. The bond they shared, the love he bore for his daughter. The first of all his children. None could parallel it,  _ yet... He left her here… to die. _ The unwelcome thought soured her mood, with the bitter taste of truth.  _ Where was Rhaenys in his mind, when he ran away with a girl who was old enough to have been her sister? _ There was no answers for that question, she was afraid. 

“Ser Arthur left to find us a carriage,” Elia told him, devoid of any feeling. 

“You ride with us, My Queen,” Rhaegar said, a smile still on his face as he spun around with Princess Rhaenys in his arms. 

“No. We ride alone, with Ser Jaime.” Her husband frowned, then. 

“There is more than enough room in our carriage, it would seem better if we all arrived together, a united front.” 

“I care not about fronts or unification. It is suffocating, to be so many.” King Rhaegar unearthed the hidden truth, beneath her lie. A sadness descended upon him, then. King, he could be, yet he could never force happiness and joy upon his family. He allowed Queen Elia to fret, lest her bitter wounds tear open and bleed afresh. 

“If that is your wish,” he allowed, somberly. 

“It is.” 

“Ser Arthur still rides with you.” 

“Why?” Elia asked. 

“Because I said so.” He was becoming slightly impatient.  _ The struggles of a king, may he feel them all. Oh, it will never get easier, husband. You have a long road from here. Your war may be won but now the long struggle will begin. _ The Dornishwoman would not intentionally make his life more strenuous, yet she would not bow beneath him, either.  _ Once, I molded to his touch. I submitted. No more. If he is king, then I am queen. _ She would do whatever it was that queens did.  _ Rule, seal weeping wounds, forge alliances and betrothals. _

“I found one, My Queen. The coachman is readying the horses, come,” Ser Arthur offered his arm but Elia declined, walking beside him, instead. The hurt on his face almost made guilt bloom within her. 

“Rhaenys, come along,” Elia called and the princess ran forth, taking a hold of her white knight’s arm. Ser Jaime smiled and grasped the tiny hand tenderly. Somewhere amidst the bustling crowd of people, Rhaegar called his goodbyes. The queen did not reply. 

Once they were inside the coach, she sighed, wearily. _ The day has yet to begin but I am already done with it. _

“Oh, my sweet, hush now,” she whispered, swaying the weeping bundle in her arms, gently. The inside of the coach was dressed in rich, red velvet, with gold undertones. It was comfortable and Elia leaned against the warm body to her right, closing her eyes and allowing Aegon to play with her loose locks, as it always succeeded in calming him. 

The queen opened her eyes again, when the coach had begun moving, the horses trotting calmly. Inquisitive as to who was at her side, she turned and was met by violet eyes.  _ Oh, no, _ Elia found herself thinking. Ser Arthur Dayne was glancing at his queen most curiously. Her hair was not done in any intricate, southern styles. It confused him, for his Elia had always been worried that she would not fit in at court, so she tried to behave southern, adopting the styles and customs. Now here she was, with the long curls flowing down her back, braids adorned with precious gems, the way she used to, in Dorne. 

A man sworn to celibacy, Arthur could claim naught but his hand and think of a woman with long, brown hair and dark eyes. Yet the knight still found himself craving her, after all these years. Her beauty was subtle, unconventional. It did not need to be displayed, to be felt--in order to be seen. It was in the way she moved, how she spoke so eloquently and beautifully, the glint of her eyes. When Arthur would catch her off that guard she put up, to keep her safe. Like now, when moments earlier, she had laid content, the dark eyelashes of hers, fanning out across her slightly flushed cheeks, the full lips, slightly parted. 

He still thought of her, in the dark of night as he lay in his bed. How he had loved her but thrown it all away. To serve under a mad king. Arthur still remembered how her hair had smelled sweet of flowers, not too heavy like other maidens would. It was just right, for him. Those soft giggles of hers could have turned winter into summer. Arthur’s fingers twitched as he recalled how her skin had felt soft and supple beneath them, as soft as samite. 

Those moments were lost now but the memories were enough to have his blood run hot through his veins, at the mere thought. It broke the knight’s heart to know that he may never have her forgiveness but felt worthy of the penalty. All the Dayne did, was because he believed in Rhaegar, in his best friend and liege. How it all ended up so horribly wrong, he could not say. All Arthur Dayne, the Sword Of The Morning knew, was that if he could, he would take it all back. He would stay with Elia and protect her, the way he promised all those years ago, in Dorne. 

Rhaegar suspected that things may have occurred betwixt his best friend and wife. Kisses and songs, poems sweetly told-- nothing more, he had promised himself. Elia had given her maidenhead to her horse, years earlier. Those fierce sand steeds were known for their silky mane and sure-footed hooves. It had made sense to him at the time, yet his wife had always been fragile, delicate of health. She lacked the wild nature of Lyanna’s, how could she ride a horse so fiercely that she lost her maidenhead to it? King Rhaegar never dwelled on it too much, it had been recorded, after all. Ever the dutiful daughter, Elia had notified her parents the second it had happened, through terrified screams as she bled onto the pale saddle. The Dornish Princess had been a girl of twelve. 

Neither Elia nor Arthur, Rhaegar’s most loyal friend had given him any intricate words regarding the matter. Ser Arthur told his best friend that he had been fond of the princess but naught else. Queen Elia had relied to her husband that she had given Arthur one or two of her kisses, that they had been close, as Ashara was her closest friend and Oberyn, Arthur’s. King Rhaegar had believed them both, yet was beginning to doubt. He noticed the way his closest friend would eye his wife, the sorry look in his eyes, like a puppy scorned. Ser Arthur having protected Lyanna in that wretched tower, had seemed a more personal affront to the queen. As if it was worse, coming from her old friend.

The coach was still trotting on and Elia’s eyes had not left Arthur’s. She would not look away, she hoped that her eyes haunted him, that they would burn so fiercely that he found no other option, but to look away. Those beautiful eyes had once been her sun, the very line to her life. How sweet it had all been, ten years past. An unwelcome memory found its way to her mind, no matter how pleasant it had made her feel. 

* * *

“Who let you in?” Elia asked, horrified that her mother would find out.  _ Father will not care but mother will surely flay me, if she hears that I had a man, alone in my chambers.  _

“Prince Oberyn,” Arthur smiled and it looked blinding. The princess felt faint, of course Oberyn would do this, she thought, pursing her lips.  _ He knows how fond I am of Arthur.  _

“Did he now?” she forced herself to look unbothered, toying with the hem of her nightgown. 

Arthur Dayne looked beautiful in the light of the moon. That silver-gold hair of his glistened ethereally and his eyes seemed more vivid, more purple than she had ever seen them. They always left her breathless, both him and Ashara. How they could have been blessed with such beauty was almost unfair, almost cruel to people like Elia. The Dornish princess never fashioned herself to be very beautiful. She was small and thin, with a delicate health that forbade her to truly enjoy life. 

The curves that Ashara boasted would sometimes bring tears to the Dornishwoman’s eyes.  _ She is tall, as well, with that long hair of pure onyx and those haunting, violet eyes. _ Ashara could bring men to their knees, with only a quiet gaze. Elia was able to boast no such thing.  _ Doran, mother and father always called me pretty but pretty is not beautiful, now is it? _ Her younger brother, Oberyn often told her to not invalidate herself, so. 

_ “A sweet flower is better than one with thorns, sister. Half of the women in Dorne have naught on your clever wit and gentle heart. Look at yourself and see your beauty, it is always shining so bright.”  _

“You look lovely, My Princess,” Arthur said, almost stiffly. He was never as quick with honeyed words and compliments as her brother was. Elia had never wished to be more beautiful, than she did in that moment. Both of them were young, Elia a girl of six-and-ten, Arthur, a man of seven-and-ten. Summer was still raging, hot and humid, burying all their sins with it.

“Would you like a cup of wine?” She asked, sweetly and her visitor nodded, grateful to the distraction. 

Elia was suddenly aware of the flimsy shift she was donning, it could almost be seen through and only slid past her upper thighs, with a deep neckline. _ It is not like there is much to be seen, anyway, _ she thought sadly. With deft fingers, the Dornish Princess poured her knight a cup and he accepted it with a soft smile and sat down on the edge of her bed. She wished to touch his cheek, to run her hands through his straight, unworldly hair. To feel his skin beneath her hand.  _ Is it too much to ask?  _

They had spent hours in each other’s company but now it all felt clumsy, as if they were dancing around each other, not daring to tread too close. Never had he seen her like this and it was all so secretive that it brought a certain thrill to her, she had to confess.  _ It is not often that I defy mother or break the rules. Let it be with Arthur, if it was to ever be.  _

“You look handsome, Arthur,” she said softly, casting her eyes downward. The Dayne knight was dressed in a silken tunic and beige breeches, the princess could almost see the outline of his muscles. The raw strength that he possessed. 

“Come here,” he beckoned and she did as she was told. The goblet of wine was stored away on the nightstand. Her gallant knight was tall and lean, muscled but not burly.  _ If Arthur was ever to be a god, then surely he belongs to those of Old Valyria. _ Elia’s movements were shy but when she reached him, he pulled her into his arms and embraced her, breathing in deeply. 

“I missed you today.” his breaths felt hot against her skin, hotter than the humidity of the eve. 

“Mother forced me to attend her during her duties for the day. She told me Oberyn was a bad influence and that I must needs learn how to do without him.” The princess and her brother were ever close, Oberyn would never treat her as if she was feeble and weak. He brought out a side to her that was rarely seen, otherwise. Everyone danced on a thin line around her, even Arthur, but less so than the others.  _ Oberyn never did any such thing.  _

“That is a shame,” he said and kissed her neck. 

Elia had given Arthur her first kiss, a few months past. It seemed only fitting that she give the rest of her, as well.  _ He wishes to wed me. We can have beautiful children of our own and live happily ever after. _ A childish fancy, the princess must have known, deep inside. Yet sometimes, we refuse to see what will hurt us. She giggled when his teeth tickled the crook of her neck. 

“I love you,” Elia said earnestly, turning her head toward to meet his sparkling eyes. 

“As I do, you, My Princess.” 

“Show me,” she pleaded, unlacing his tunic, revealing the slightly tanned chest beneath. It made her smile. He arrived here, pale as a ghost but now he has garnered some color. It was thanks to Oberyn, she wagered. They would spar in the courtyard, almost daily. Elia would watch Arthur, how his damp hair would glisten as the sun touched it, the sweat gracing his bare chest and back. Her knight would always send coy, almost teasing smiles in her direction as she felt her breath grow short and her body tingle.  _ He is mine, _ she would think-- and what greater gift could there ever be, than to be loved by a man who was half a god?

There was something so innocent and beautiful about the scene in that chamber. Of a young woman in love, the affections between two people who could never be, but they refused to believe it-- that the world could be so cruel to tear them asunder. They were inexperienced, in mind and soul. The world would harden them, make no mistake. But for now, they were young and would do what they craved. 

“Are you sure?” her knight breathed against her lips, ever so gently. 

“Yes,” she replied, grasping his hair so fiercely. Then a sudden worry took hold of her.  _ Has he done this before? What if I am not like the others? What If I disappoint? _ All she wanted to do, was to please him. To have his love and devotion. Princess Elia already had it, the knight was completely and utterly besotted with her. 

“Have you done this before?” Arthur looked at her, those pools of pure violet, warming her heart. 

“I have,” he replied and of course he had. Arthur Dayne was beautiful, as comely as a man could be and he had a good heart, a chivalrous nature. It did not surprise her that he was not new to the art of bedding.  _ This is Dorne, someone would have thrown themselves at him, sooner or later.  _

“And have you lost your maidenhead?” her love asked but there was no disgust or snideness to his words. The man simply wished to know. The heat of the moment had left the princess feeling playful, almost bold. 

“Yes, I have.” Ser Arthur rose a silvery eyebrow. 

“Oberyn would kill the man,” he replied, amusedly. 

“Alas, it was no man.” That caught his undivided attention.  _ Men, _ Elia laughed. 

“Who, then?” Elia was to reply but Arthur began kissing her neck, inching downard with his cruel, tantalizing lips. She felt him smile against her skin, no doubt pleased with her reaction. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asked and felt him stand up to place her on the bed, tenderly. 

“I would,” he began, pulling her shift upward and kissing down her stomach, restraining her hands. His lips on her body felt warm as spring, more scorching than summer. But winter comes in the end, for all of us. 

“Was it these?” he asked with his thumbs caressing each of her hands. 

“No,” she shook her head and felt him trail lower, his lips barely brushing over the jut of her hip bone. 

“A woman?” he breathed and she giggled, for he sounded so unsure but not averse toward it, at all. “I do not know which of those I would be most enticed toward, they are both very rousing prospects” he continued, so perversely that it made her breath catch in her throat. She had never known this side to him, the one full of passion and sin. _S_ _ ummer and scorching nights bring out the hidden depths of us, _ she pondered. 

“It was nothing so depraved, Arthur,” Elia said, her words barely more than a whine when she felt his lips kiss dangerously close to her womanhood, and his hands reaching upward to caress the sides of her stomach, leaving shivers in their wake. 

“I was twelve and gave it to my saddle and perhaps by extension, the sandsteed. It was not what anyone would call wanton or rebellious. I was horrified, Arthur,” she laughed, recalling how she had wept to her mother and father. The man chuckled, himself. 

Suddenly, the Dornish princess sat up and Arthur turned to her confusedly. Mutely, the small woman stood up, barely reaching his shoulders as he too, moved to stand. She put her hands on his chest, trailing downward as his muscles heaved up and down. Then, she gently pushed him down on the bed, moving to straddle his waist. He smiled as she leaned down to capture his lips, her long hair tickling his face pleasantly. 

“Who was yours?” Elia asked after breaking the kiss. 

“The first?” he asked and the princess nodded, trailing patterns on his chest. 

“Ashara’s handmaid,” he said, almost shamefully. She kissed his cheeks that had turned a flaming scarlet. 

“What did Ashara have to say on the matter?” The Lady Dayne was no woman to be scorned, even as a girl of four-and-ten. 

“My sweet sister was young, on the cusp of turning one-and-ten. The handmaiden had expressed interest in wedding me. Ashara, young as she was, knew that it could not be. So, my sister dismissed her and told me to not make whores of her attendees.”  _ It does sound like something my Ashara would say.  _

“Will you turn me into a woman, Arthur?” Elia whispered into his ear as she leaned down, kissing his jaw tenderly. His hands gripped her waist tightly and he groaned in regards to her ministrations. 

“Only if you wish it so, My Princess,” he began. “I would not want to spoil your virtue. There are other ways to feel pleasant, Oberyn shares too many of them, for me to not learn a trick or two.” Elia shook her head. _ I want it to be you, my future husband. _ He was her Warrior and she would be his maiden, it was only right.  _ Not even the gods can deny me this.  _

“I want you.” With that said, she removed her shift and saw his eyes widen. 

“Is it so horrible?” Elia felt almost defeated, she wished to be beautiful, with tantalizing curves that could make a man go mad. Instead she was thin, _ too thin  _ and could not boast a very large bosom or hips. It always gnawed on her and made her wonder why Arthur loved her so. Why he cared for her the way he did. The knight shook his head, reaching out to stroke her cheek with the utmost love pouring through his eyes. 

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever had the pleasure of loving.” Men, they always know the right things to say. 

Then he bedded her and the night was filled with the sweetness of youth, the innocent love of summer. Arthur was tender and sweet but so passionate that he brought tears to her eyes and by the time it was all said and done, she was gasping in his arms, quivering as her heart bled with the utmost love for this man. The man she thought that she would be spending the rest of her life with. That his face would be the last she saw at night and the first in the morn. A lovely dream, it truly was. 

“You are the keeper of my heart, Princess,” Arthur whispered drowsily as he kissed her cheek and fell into the arms of sleep, resting his head against her chest. The princess was too ecstatic to fall asleep, so she contented herself by playing with his hair and cradling him against her, cursing anything, be it man or god, who sought to tear them apart. 

A year later, he joined the Kingsguard. 

A few years after that, she would wed the son, to the king he was guarding. 

Too much pleasure is always pain. They should have known. 

* * *

“My Queen?” Jaime called, breaking the secret that she and Arthur shared, their bittersweet recollection, in a time forgotten.  _ Those people are dead now, _ she thought. 

“Yes, Ser Jaime?” Elia asked, turning her head toward the young knight. 

“We have arrived.” Aegon began weeping again, perhaps because of the abrupt stop or the cheering of the crazed crowd, all gathered to see their king crowned, alongside his queens. 

“Oh no,” Elia sighed, trying to shush her babe. “Not now, my love, please not now,” she whispered and Arthur leaned out to put a calming hand on her palm, freezing as he saw how she turned away. It would have broken anyone’s heart, even a knight of the kingsguard. 

“I shall be out in a few moments, Ser Jaime. Bring Rhaenys to her father and tell him we will be there, shortly. When Aegon has calmed down.” Jaime eyed them both warily but agreed and left, taking the princess with him.

“You can wait outside, Ser Arthur.” 

“The king ordered me to stay by your side, My Queen.” 

“That never stopped you from leaving before, did it?” Aegon’s foul mood was getting to her, as well. She was so tired and wished the ceremony would be quick and easy, with no hindrances.  _ I have no energy to deal with anything else.  _

She felt Ser Arthur touch her arm, beckoning her to give him her attention. 

“I could have your hand for that.” She leaned down to kiss Aegon on his forehead, murmuring comforts as he wailed. 

“You won’t,” Ser Arthur began. “I will never have your forgiveness, nor Ashara’s or my own. I did what I thought was right, to serve my liege. If I had known that you would be forced to King’s Landing as a hostage, never would I ever have left you. ”

“He was not your king.” 

“Not yet but he would be.” 

“You betrayed me once and I forgave you. I cannot this time.” Her voice was soft, close to the tears that her son was exuding. 

“I will never forgive myself. I wish it could all have been different.” 

“But it is not, Ser Arthur.” her son had begun settling but not enough to be thrown out in front of the cheering crowds. 

“You need to be careful, Elia. Jaime is a knight of the kingsguard and your daughter’s sworn shield but he is still a Lannister. I have heard whispers of what Lord Tywin had plan-” 

“Planned for us? The ones you left here, to receive the ire of the king and those plans? Ser Jaime has proved more loyal than any of you lot.” She did not wish to be wroth, not now. 

“He broke his vows,” Arthur’s voice was hard as stone.

“You all did!” she raised her voice. “The only one who seems to have kept them, is Ser Barristan.” 

“I am simply warning you, My Queen. Be wary of him, until he is proven to be of the utmost loyalty to the king and yours.” 

“No one warned me of your betrayals, nor Rhaegar’s,” she bit back and the sadness returned to the knight. 

“Who are you, Ser Arthur? Who are you really, anymore?” he always loved the way she said his name, it used to be spoken so softly. Now, there was nothing to her words but sorrow.

“I am still the same man you loved, all those years ago.” he stroked the side of her arm, tenderly and looked toward her son.  _ It could have been his child. Alas, it was never to be.  _

The Dornishwoman shook her head sadly, as she rocked Aegon. “None of us will ever be the same.” Tears brimmed in Ser Arthur’s eyes at the bitter truth. Not even Rhaegar knew what the two had shared. Their secrets and forgotten love would die with them. Trust him when he says that he wished it would have been different. The man would have given his sword-arm, to be her husband, to hold and love her at night, to see her swell with his children and be there as age turned them into crones but their love remained an undying force. 

After a few more silent moments, her son finally quieted down. 

“Come along, Ser Arthur,” she sighed and the knight opened the door to the carriage. The stink of King’s Landing assaulted her nose and the chaos of it all, unnerved her. She could see a silver-haired man walking toward her, with her daughter in his arms. The wolf-girl was trailing behind him, as if scared to poke a viper of Dorne, even further. Even though Princess Elia had come without thorns, she had become a little prickly to the touch. It was only to be expected, after all that she had suffered through. Such events harden a person, turning their soft heart, harder with walls that are difficult to break down. It would prove even more difficult, if you were part of the reason as to why she had to put the walls up, in the first place. 

“Are you alright, Elia?” Rhaegar asked, eyeing her and Arthur with a strange curiosity. 

“Aegon was fussing.” Elia looked down toward her son, as she said it, stroking his hair softly.

“The wet-nurse could have taken him,” Rhaegar said, amiably.

“Her name is Melly and I will not part with him, in such a large crowd. I for one, wish to know that my children are with me and safe.” 

“Melly. I shall remember that,” he allowed, softly in his somber voice. His indigo eyes sparkled in the light, making them not blue but not quite purple. 

“It would do you good.” 

Then, they entered the sept. Elia had been raised with the notion that one should pray to the gods, for guidance, for help, for pity, for redemption. The Princess did, but she never truly felt their presence in her heart. Where was the Mother, when she almost died in the birthing bed, or when her children were almost put to the sword?  _ Where was the Warrior, to keep us safe? Where were they? _ She wished deeply, to know. Yet, Elia still said her prayers, more out of duty and obligation but a part of her knew that she must.  _ It was a miracle that we survived and I will treat it as such.  _

The statues of the gods loomed in the entrance, large and almost terrifying, in some queer way. The High Septon greeted them all, even the wolf-girl who stood shyly in the corner. 

“These are not my gods,” she heard the girl whisper to the king. 

“And this is not your home, you must needs make due with it, as everyone else has. Go plead forgiveness to your gods in the weirwood later, but now I fear you must commit a little apostasy, for the good of the realm,” Elia told Lyanna Stark, who eyed the Dornish queen with a morbid curiosity. It had been the first time that Elia addressed and spoke to her directly, ever since she had come to King’s Landing. 

“You are right, My Queen. I shall speak no more of it.” Rhaegar smiled nervously at the High Septon, who looked confused. 

“It has been long since the realm saw two queens,” The High Septon began, in a quivering voice. 

“Now, the time has come,” Rhaegar said, smiling so beautifully that even the gods were put to shame. 

“Indeed, My King. Let us begin.” So it was, that Rhaegar was anointed by the High Septon and proclaimed King, in front of all King’s Landing. What a sight he was, standing tall with the crown of rubies on his head. _ It will turn heavy, before long, _ Elia found herself thinking as her son toyed with her hair and Rhaenys looked toward the scene in awe, clutching both her mother and Ser Jaime’s hand. 

Then it was Elia’s turn to have the crown placed atop her Dornish head. She bowed in front of Rhaegar gracefully, her purple skirts touching the floor, making her seem as if she had risen from the underworld, and did her duty. She did not have time to see the crown,  _ I will simply ask Ser Jaime what it looks like, later. _

“You may rise, Queen Elia of House Martell,” Rhaegar beckoned her and she stood up. The crowd cheered almost as loudly as they had for her husband. A happy smile touched her lips, for the first time in so long, she had felt as if the people may love her, as well. It was not Dorne, but gods, did it come close. 

Lyanna was dressed in an embroidered, silvery dress with black detailing, her skin devoid of any jewelry or gems. When Rhaegar called upon her, it seemed as if the world was holding its breath. It had almost not seemed real to Elia, or the people of King’s Landing, until Lyanna stood bowed before her husband, ready to be proclaimed queen. The Dornish queen recognised that Lyanna’s queen seemed to be of silver, with ornate leaves of weirwood, circling around it. _ It is a beauty,  _ Elia confessed. 

It might have been made of ornate blue roses, had they not been the symbol of his first wife’s scorn, as he had crowned Lyanna the Queen Of Love And Beauty. King Rhaegar, as naive and unknowing he may be, would not do that to Elia. She would surely have left him, then. The Dornishwoman noted that the crowd did not cheer as loudly, for their northern queen. Strangely, the act did not bring pleasure to Elia, she nearly felt bad for the girl.

There would be a great feast to celebrate the coronation and Elia did not wish to attend, yet it was required of her, as queen. She would offer them her prettiest and most false smiles, to pretend that she was happy and content _. They never want to see that which is underneath, anyway. _ The court of King’s Landing was ever the viper’s nest, full of lies and falsehoods, she would not stand out by acting against herself.  _ It is only an eve, then I will be free of the largest mummer’s farce, at the least.  _

This time, she was forced to sit beside Rhaegar and his young wife, as they were displayed, riding through the cheering crowds, to the Red Keep, where the feast was awaiting. Elia did her part, what was asked of her. She smiled at the commons, beckoned Rhaenys to wave and proudly displayed her son, allowing the people to take part in his childish giggles, full of mirth and joy.  _ Queen Elia, _ they shouted.  _ King Rhaegar! King, King King, Queen, Queen, Queen, Prince, Princess! _ Their cheering seemed endless but she knew it was not true, that it was fickle.  _ The commons cheer for rain, for endless summers and true love. It is all a lie, an illusion. But let them have their comforts, if it warms them at night. _

***

Elia was saying goodnight to her daughter, when Ser Jaime mustered up the courage to speak. 

“My Queen,” he began. Elia turned her dark, liquid eyes of the earth onto his emerald ones. 

“Yes, Ser Jaime?” Elia inquired as Rhaenys clung to the Dornishwoman, like a gown in the fiercest heat. 

“Do you wish me to… to speak with Ser Arthur? Sometimes it seems as if h-” 

“-You may return and we shall speak of this privily.” Rhaenys was a young girl but some things should not be spoken about, in the presence of a child.  _ They pick up on more than we give them credit for. Let her be free of my sorrow, troubles and pain, let it be my gift to her. _ Ser Jaime nodded. 

“Goodnight now, my sweet. Balerion is waiting and you know how much Aegon fusses, when you are not there to comfort him.” Rhaenys nodded dutifully, letting go of her mother and taking Ser Jaime’s arm. 

“Love you,” she heard her daughter’s voice echo throughout the halls. 

“As I do, you,” Elia called and almost thought she heard Jaime laugh good-naturedly, at the little princess and her queen of a mother. 

The queen busied herself by combing her hair until the knight returned. She felt that she owed him an explanation, even though she knew that she didn’t. The young knight seemed worried for her and she would do her best to quiet them, lest he get the wrong impression of Elia and Ser Arthur. The muscles in her back was aching, her neck felt stiff from wearing the crown.  _ The crown! _ She realised that she hadn’t peeked at it all day, nor asked anyone what it looked like. 

Carefully, she removed it from its nest atop her head. It took the breath away, it truly did. The crown was wrought in yellow gold and adored with little flares that contained rubies within each. It looked similar to Rhaegar’s, except he wore the Valyrian steel circlet of Aegon the conqueror. Elia realised that the flares and rubies reminded her of the sigil that House Martell boasted and somehow… the thought that Rhaegar had actually cared to put her origins into the crown, warmed her heart, a little.  _ He did the same for the wolf-girl, you are not so special as you think, _ a snide voice inside of her chided. Ser Jaime’s knock brought her out of her impending melancholy. 

“Enter, Ser,” Elia said and watched as the door opened. She grabbed the pitcher of wine and poured two goblets of the Arbor Gold. Jaime eyed her with a strange intensity as he drank.

“Now what was it you were wondering?” The young knight gulped a little, as if his words were hard to express. 

“Do you wish me to speak with Ser Arthur? For him to stop acting as if he has the right to touch, defy or interrupt you, My Queen?” She admired his courage, she really did.  _ It takes a lot to defy the very man who knighted you, the one who brought you into greatness.  _

"Oh, Jaime,” Elia sighed, softly, forgetting about courtesies and such for now. His eyes looked large and unknowing, near the innocent ones of a child. _ He forfeited his life so young, why? _ It broke her heart to see and think of all he had to suffer through.  _ Aerys’s snide remarks and scorn, to hear of the plans he had to burn King’s Landing. To look upon my daughter and son’s faces, knowing we’d all meet the same gruesome end. _ It was tragic, truly.  _ He is but a boy who was forced to harden into a man, far too young.  _

“Do you?” the Lannister inquired.

“No, sweet Jaime. You do not have to.” He eyed her questioningly. 

“Ser Arthur and I have a history,” she explained. “We knew each other in Dorne and were close friends but he betrayed me, he left us here. I simply cannot trust him.” 

“Then why do you allow him to treat you with such familiarity?” “My Queen,” he added. 

“Because he  _ is  _ familiar, Ser Jaime. No matter how much I would try to hate him, I simply would not be able to,” she began. “My heart still bears love for him, yet sometimes, not even love is enough to quench certain betrayals. There comes a time when it is not easy, when we must choose. Stay or leave. Love or hate, plead or refuse. Free or condemn.” Jaime gazed at her whilst he nodded.

“You make fair points, My Queen. Rational, as always.” 

“This court would have torn me to pieces, if I was not able to think rationally, Ser.” 

“Doesn’t it hurt?” he asked her, suddenly. As if her words had brought out something within him that had been hidden but found its way to clamber to the surface. 

“It does.” “However, sometimes, we have to let go of the things we cherished in the past because they are not what we know, any longer.” Jaime seemed disquieted by that, as if he had ghosts of his own to deal with. 

“I thank you for your wisdom, My Queen.” Elia laughed a sweet sound. It almost reminded the knight of his sister’s sweet giggles and laughs.

“You make me sound like an old crone.” 

“I can assure you that no crone would be so lovely.” Jaime smiled but it looked empty, somehow. As if he was far away, in his own mind. 

“I bid you good eve, Ser Jaime. I trust I will be seeing you in the morn?” The knight nodded.

“Goodnight, My Queen.” Then he left, leaving her to the empty, eerie chamber of hers. 

It was not long before another visitor would emerge, however. As the Dornish queen had donned her shift and was ready to depart into a restless slumber, she heard a soft knock on her door. Elia donned a robe and opened the door, she was met with Lord Varys’s powdered face. 

“Lord Varys,” Elia greeted and he tittered so sweetly. 

“My Queen,” he replied, softly. 

“To what do I owe this visit?” Elia asked the eunuch, not unkindly.

“Perhaps we should speak more privily, My Queen.” Elia looked to the guards outside her door and nodded, allowing the eunuch passage in. 

She closed the door with a creek. 

“Would you like a goblet of wine?” Elia asked out of courtesy, knowing he’d deny. 

“Oh no, I must say that wine does not agree with me, during the late eves.” 

“We all have our quirks, Lord Varys,” she replied with a soft smile. She was quite fond of the eunuch, if only they had met during better circumstances. 

“How does it feel to be a Queen? Crowned and worshipped?” he asked her. 

“Not very different from being a princess, I fear.” The eunuch giggled softly at that. 

“Perhaps you were already a queen, simply with a princess’s title.” 

“Oh, I do not know about that,” Elia replied, humbly. 

“Please sit, Varys.” Kindness would get one far in the world, if it was used in the right way. Elia had no wish to make an enemy of the eunuch, he was ever ambiguous in his leanings but she hoped that he was in her favor. To will it so, she would have to appear as good as possible. It was not hard for the princess, it was her nature. 

“How are you faring with Queen Lyanna and her little pup?” Varys asked. 

“You must surely have known that they were arriving,” Elia countered with a raised eyebrow. 

“Oh my little birds whispered, they did. They sang of a girl with a babe, trailing after King Rhaegar and his army, yet I was told naught of her name or status.” His pale, blue eyes, so common for the Lyseni, glimmered as he spoke. 

“Interesting,” Elia allowed.

“What do you mean to do now, My Queen?” 

“In regards to what?” she smiled. 

“The king and queen, the new heir, and all these changes.”  _ My dear spider, I wish you could be my confidant, yet you are loyal to no one but the realm. If I go against the realm, then you will go against me. How will I ever know what is right and wrong, when you whisper so sweetly in my ear one moment and conspire against me, in the next? _ Her heart did wish to trust him but her mind knew better.  _ I am not planning anything. I will live, for my children, for me. So long as they are content, then so am I.  _

“Lord Varys,” Elia began and he hummed. “I respect you and you shall have my eternal gratitude, for coming to aid my son, aiding me with information and helping us. Words cannot express how grateful I am.”

“You flatter me, My Queen,” Varys said and she suspected he would even have given her a blush, if his face had not been covered in the powder. 

“But all my secrets cannot be yours to keep,” her voice was smooth as honey. “If I tell you, then who will you tell?” 

Varys nodded efficiently, smiling at her words. 

“You are an admirable woman, Elia of House Martell. You will make a fine queen,” the spider spoke, softly.

“Now who is flattering who? You will make me blush, Varys.” Elia smiled sweetly at the eunuch. They were speaking as if she had not been weeping in front of him, a week past, having to come to terms with not only the loss of her life but her daughter’s, as well. 

“Well, now I shall bid you goodnight, My Queen and allow you to rest. Lord Stark will arrive within the week, to swear fealty to your husband.”  _ He will?  _

“I thank you for the notification, Lord Varys. There is always room for you in my heart.” it was her way of telling him;  _ so long as you help me, then I can help you, too.  _

“You are too kind to say so. Farewell, My Queen.” 

“Goodbye, Lord Varys.” 

After the eunuch left, Elia meant to sleep, she truly did. An idea festered within her, however and would not relieve its grip of her. She sat down by her desk and lit one of the candles, grabbing parchment, a quill and some ink. 

_ “I hope this letter finds you well, brother. Much has happened and I long to see your face again, to be reminded of something akin to home. Rhaenys and Aegon will need to meet their family and what better way, than you travelling here?  _

_ Do bring your paramour, I have a wish to meet her. We have much to discuss, Dorne must surely be different from when I left it.  _

_ Do not forget to give Doran my greetings and Arianne all of my kisses. _

_ Your devoted sister,  _

_ Elia.  _

She sealed it with their sigil, the burning sun and spear of House Martell.  _ Oberyn has a keen eye, he will read between the lines. Much has happened and there is much to discuss. He can also not ignore a queen’s summons, even if he did not wish to come. _ When Elia heard that her brother had taken a paramour, she was not shocked.  _ Oberyn was never the sort to tie himself down. _ The queen was truthful when she said that she wished to meet the woman who ensnared her brother’s unruly heart.

_ Rhaegar will surely not be pleased, for he knows Oberyn will be wroth. _ Perhaps that was why she was inviting her brother. After all, the wolf-girl’s brother was coming to the capital, why not hers?  _ If I am to be surrounded by strangers and vipers, may it at least be one I know and trust. May I at least have one that is loyal to me.  _

If Rhaegar would not bring her to Dorne, then she would bring Dorne to them,

in all of its great glory.


	4. Lust is poison, but loving is madness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That girl is the face of our pain, the very embodiment of our struggles. What ran through your mind as you wed her? Surely not us, your family. Was it that she was sweet and fresh? A wild flower, ready to be plucked? Did she fuck you like a Lyseni courtesan, was that it? I can not for the life of me, figure out how she managed to ensnare you like this.” Elia’s voice was taunting and she felt his grip on her thigh tighten, as the other continued to wander on her neck.  
> “Don’t,” her husband warned and there was fire swirling in those indigo eyes, there was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 4 for y'all and before you begin reading, let me just make a few quick announcements. 
> 
> So this is more of a filler chapter, before shit starts getting a little bit more real because we'll meet Oberyn, deal with Rhaella and Viserys and the strange dynamic between Elia and Lyanna, especially when it comes to Rhaegar because the dude is just trouble, wrapped into one beautiful package of a man. 
> 
> I have been lowkey highkey apprehensive about posting this because  
> a) I can't write steamy scenes for shit  
> b) because i'm scared it won't be understood properly, so I'll try to explain a little. 
> 
> This chapter is meant to develop and go further into the complex relationships that Elia is faced with (and to kind of plant seeds for further issues and things).
> 
> Her heart is in very much conflict with itself, regarding Rhaegar, regarding Arthur. All our monsters don't have to be repulsive and fearsome beings. Sometimes it's those we love best and it's difficult to keep such hatred in your heart, when it wasn't meant or created to do so. I'm rambling but it's hard to let go sometimes, you know and Elia is human. She never wanted it to be like this but we have to make due with the cards we're dealt, in the end. 
> 
> I hope it's a bit clearer now that this chapter serves a purpose andddddddd I'msorryguysidon'twanttodisappointyouyou'reallsoniceImturningthisstoryintoshitmysincerestapologiesimtrash
> 
> until next time :) 
> 
> <3

“What is the meaning of this?” Rhaegar demanded angrily, after having burst into her chamber, unannounced. Elia may have casually let slip to Ser Oswell that she had invited her brother, Prince Oberyn to court. _I knew he would turn to his master, loyal as can be and notify him of this._ How Ser Oswell had brilliantly fallen for her ploy brought her a certain amount of childish glee. 

“Of what?” Elia asked, as if she did not know. 

Rhaegar was fuming, his skin had turned flushed and he was biting his bottom lip with a fierce intensity, _a bad habit of his._ However, it did nothing to dull his loveliness. _Though what is beauty truly worth, when it comes down to it?_

“You invited your brother here, without my leave!” Rhaegar gritted out, running a hand through his silvery hair, almost pulling on it. _It is intriguing to see that he can still display other traits and feelings than melancholy and treachery._

“I thought i’d notified you of that, husband,” Elia frowned, feigning ignorance. 

“Do not play those games with me, I am your king! You knew very well what you were doing.” _Do not dare turn this on me, as if I am the villain of this cursed story._

“Tell me, My King,” Elia spit. “Did you notify me before you shamed me at Harrenhal? Did you tell me that you were going to run away with little more than a child, as I was recovering from birthing you a son, which nearly killed me?” _If he wants to act as if I slighted him, then he shall have a taste of my ire, as well._

“That is not the topic of discussion! I have apologised, I can do little more. You had my word, we were going to travel to Dorne. Once my throne was secure and the realm; stable.” Rhaegar sounded defeated, as he oft did when she brought the topic of his betrayals up-- Though iron still laced his words.

“You were going to bring _her_.” The final word hung between them like a dark shadow. 

“She is my queen, as well.” indigo eyes burned into her as he spoke his sentence, almost sheepish regarding it. _No, you will stand for what you did._

“By your doing.” 

“Why did you have to do this, Elia? Was it to scorn me, to show me a sliver of your anger?” _Oh, you have not seen anything yet, Rhaegar. Be glad that I am sparing you of that._

“Everything is not about you, Rhaegar, believe it or not. I miss my family, of being surrounded by people who care for and love me, my children excluded.” 

“They are _our_ children and damn it, I care for you! Why will you not see?” 

“Because you left us to die!” She relished in the argument, that he gave her more than his sad and pitiful glances. _By being angry, he shows me that he is human, at the least._

“I did not know you would be harmed!” 

“How could you be so naive?” Elia sneered. “For a supposedly clever man, you really are thick on the occasion.”

“I was blinded by-”

“-Faith,” Elia spit out the word as if a curse, “By your precious she-wolf, by your cock inside of her-- it matters not!” Elia was sure that both Ser Jaime and Ser Arthur that were guarding the door, heard their exact words. _We are not exactly discrete but they are sworn to secrecy, bound by vows. It matters not, let them hear me rage and scream, I have earned it._

“Prince Oberyn has a way of making friends out of enemies, I hope you know what it is you are doing.” Rhaegar was warning her, she realised. _He is telling me that no mercy will be bestowed upon Oberyn, if he misbehaves._

“Oberyn knows better than to conspire against you, he would gain nothing.” 

“He would gain justice for you, for his niece and nephew. The man is a viper if I ever saw one and he is waiting to strike, Elia.” 

“Which was why I asked to travel to Dorne, to calm his mind!” she paused to collect her breath. “Not for you,” she spit. “But for our children’s prosperity, for peace in the realm. I saw this war firsthand, whilst you were fucking a girl in a tower, that need I remind you, was located in my homeland!” The words stung him, she could see. Based on the way he winced as she swore. _That is what you were doing, fucking, as we were dying._

“I never forbade you to go, I simply stated that the children remain here!” Elia stalked up to the tall man, clad in her red robe, as vivid as her rage.

“How could I ever leave my children again, after what you put me through? I had to dig their graves whilst they were still alive! Do not pretend as if they crossed your mind.” Her voice broke at the ends and Rhaegar moved to touch her but she winced, as if he was going to strike her. 

“You think so lowly of me?” he asked, aghast. His indigo eyes burned fiercer, in the dim light of her chamber. The Dornishwoman averted her eyes away from her husband, onto the floor.

“I do not know what to think of you anymore, Rhaegar.” 

“I would never strike you, it is unbecoming of both man and king.” she wanted to believe him but she had seen the remnants of Aerys’s inflictions upon Rhaella. 

“That never stopped your father,” she whispered and Rhaegar turned sad. 

“No. it did not.” 

“You ruined our lives,” she said, evenly, no longer yelling but the rage was still within her, ready to emerge at any given moment. 

“What life did we lead? Hiding from my father on Dragonstone? Fearing his ire and longing for his departure.” Rhaegar would never openly say that he had wished his father dead but there had been moments… She had seen the way her husband’s eyes had grown dark and cold as they presented the mad king with their daughter. _He said she smelled Dornish and I could have sworn that I saw Rhaegar touch the hilt of his sword._

“A life that was not plagued by war or pain, death and the fear of it. We may not have had the best life but it was pleasant and comfortable, it was enough!” Elia hissed at the silver-haired man that stood so righteously in front of her. 

“Oh, but forgive me,” she laughed, a bitter, dry and horrible sound that he never again wished to bear witness to. The utter contempt and sadness in it, sliced through King Rhaegar’s heart, tearing into his soul. “It was not enough for you, Rhaegar of House Targaryen, the man burdened with such a glorious purpose!” 

“None of my words will ever be enough for you, so why must you keep incessantly bringing it up?” he demanded, his smooth voice loud enough for anyone down the hall to hear. 

“Because even though you have such pretty eyes, you still do not SEE!” her chest was heaving and she was breathing hard. Elia saw something change in his eyes and it frightened her, for she could not interpret it. Nonetheless, she continued. “Your pretty words and poetic slurs will not excuse what you did. If you do not comprehend the severity of your actions, then none of your pleas for pardon could ever be sincere!” 

Elia moved to the door, ready to ask him to leave.

“I think it is-” suddenly she was pinned against the wall, with a fuming Rhaegar in front of her. The queen almost wished to spit in his face, to retaliate and show him that she would never bend. Instead, she gasped and felt his lips on hers. A strange idea festered within her. _Fine! fine,_ she thought feverishly. _If you will not SEE, then I shall show you. I will show you._

His kiss was bruising, full of an unexpressed rage and fervent drive. Their teeth clashed but it mattered not, it made her feel. To not focus on anything other than what was happening within her body. The Dornishwoman felt him bite her lip, almost painfully but it turned sweet with pleasure as he ran his tongue along it, soothingly. Rhaegar’s hands were elsewhere, underneath the silk of her robe, running his hands along her body, burning hot like a raging fire.

Somewhere along those lines, Rhaegar moved on from her lips, trailing beneath her jaw and down her neck, grazing his teeth along her skin, making her shiver. The situation was so horribly wrong but that did not mean that it didn’t feel good. Elia was almost ashamed that she was enjoying it, to be touched by a man after so long. A part of her wished to abandon that clever notion of hers, in search for a carnal release but she needed him to see, to understand. Her anger was greater than her lust. The betrayal she felt was stronger than the want. 

He was sucking harshly and biting at her neck, leaving little bruises and light marks as he went. The feeling was intoxicating, somehow and Elia could not help but mewl a sound of pleasure.

“Gods, I missed you,” Rhaegar breathed, yet it sounded almost like a growl. _Whatever you say, husband. Me, or my body?_ What name was she supposed to call? Rhaegar who betrayed and shamed her? Arthur who betrayed her less severely but twice, nonetheless? Or someone else, someone she knew naught of yet? A comely stranger with hair like the Dragonlords of old? None of it mattered now. 

Elia pulled at her husband’s hair so fiercely that he growled and she smiled, he proceeded to place tantalizing kisses that had travelled down to the swell of her breasts. Suddenly, Rhaegar picked her up and placed her on the great wooden bed, with the red canopy and intricate, wooden carvings. The commotion that they were making, along with the depraved sounds was simply absurd. 

With furious fingers, Rhaegar unlaced his tunic as Elia worked on his breeches. When that was off, her husband turned to her with eyes intoxicated by sin.

“Your turn.” Then, pale fingers all but ripped the robe apart, unveiling nothing but skin beneath. The king sucked in a sharp breath and then kissed her with a furious kind of passion as his fingers toyed with her curls that laid like a veil of darkness atop the crimson pillow. 

Deciding she’d had enough of his antics, she turned him around so that she was straddling his waist. His indigo eyes burned more clearly than ever before yet they were almost masked by large, black pupils that made him look unworldly in the candlelight. Elia ran her hand along his muscled stomach, earning a hiss or two and a sharp grip around her waist, as she used her nails, almost drawing blood. _Rhaegar always liked pain with his pleasure. He said it was the greatest way to truly feel._ She wondered if the wolf-girl knew. The Dornishwoman leaned down to kiss his neck, leaving a scarlet crimson mark. A badge of both their sins. Queen Elia shared the replicas. 

Concluding that they had enough of the tantalizing play, she sank down onto him and the feeling made her oddly reminiscent of their happier times, on Dragonstone. It had been so long.

“Elia,” she heard Rhaegar hiss as she began moving. It felt good, almost as if she was whole again, in some perverse way. It was not in thanks to Rhaegar, because she suspected it would have felt the same, even if a man such as Arthur or Ser Jonothor had been beneath her. 

“Am I pleasing my king?” Elia asked with a steadying hand to his glistening chest. She decided to move slowly, to make him truly yearn for release.

“Please,” he begged with those eyes of both purple and blue. _Rhaegar does look enticing when he pleads so prettily, like a Lyseni whore in a brothel._ The king’s eyes almost rolled into the back of his skull and he dropped his head onto the pillows with a loud groan of utter bliss, as Elia moved gracefully, like a water-dancer on top of him. 

“Does that feel good, Rhaegar?” she asked, her words thick with lust and honeyed with passion. Her husband nodded fervently with closed eyes, biting his lower lip until it turned scarlet and glistening with the indents of his teeth.

“Don’t stop,” he begged, holding her hips with his large hands and meeting her every thrust, with one of his own. _They do say that lust is poison._ A slightly cruel smile touched her lips as she tried to stifle a moan. _I have a surprise, you will see in due time._

Rhaegar’s hands wandered from her hips, to her stomach and up to her breasts. The king was looking as if he had been blessed by the very gods, as if he had found his salvation in that wooden bed. _Has it truly been that long for him?_

“That feels pleasant doesn’t it?” Rhaegar nodded and by the sounds of his more frequent groans, was nearing his release. Elia was not far from hers, either. _But sacrifices have to be made, when one is proving a point._

“Now you know how I felt,” she breathed. “Our life was pleasant, like this,” the queen explained, rolling her hips. “But then you had to take it all away.” Rhaegar snapped his eyes open at that, mere seconds away from a mind-numbing release. 

“It was a shame, really,” Elia let out softly, but then, as gracefully as she’d climbed on top of him, she departed just as he was to spend, leaving him close screaming and even nearer a fit of rage. 

She hoped he would not touch himself to completion. _That would ruin this entire point that I whored myself out for, in order to make._ Yet that was not her husband’s way and she knew. 

“What the fuck, Elia?” he raged and looked quite like Aegon when her son was denied a sweet. _Do not look so petulant, make due with it. Like I did._

“All my words fell on deaf ears. I decided to show you,” she smiled sinfully. “All that rage, the confusion, the sadness, the longing and heartache, is but a poor representation of what I had to suffer--have to.” 

“You are my wife, how can you be so cruel?” Rhaegar asked, breathing hard as he gazed at his wife. She had not moved to don her robe yet and was leaning against the vanity, her long hair a curly mess and swollen lips-- with light teeth and red marks on her neck and shoulder. Rhaegar fared no better, with thin stripes of scarlet dripping down his chest and stomach, harsh, purple and red marks on his throat that clashed with his pale skin. 

“No,” Elia shook her head. “How could you be so cruel?” her husband simply stared at her, almost shaking with anger and confusion and longing. _Good,_ Elia smiled. _Finally you know how it feels, you did not yet see, but you felt._

With an angry grace, her husband moved to don his clothing but left his tunic unlaced. _He seems more burdened, though, as if this really made him think._ Then he walked toward her and spoke quietly, yet the words were strange, both ice and fire. 

“I have allowed you time to fret and am not indifferent or blind to your pains and struggles. I care for you deeply, Elia. I hope that one day you can forgive me, but I will understand if you don’t.” His hands brushed some hair away from the nape of her neck, softly touching the marks and bruises that their sins left behind. “You will not openly defy me or scorn me,” he said as his other hand brushed against the swell of her breasts, making shivers erupt on her body. The Dornishwoman hated it, the way he was able to garner such a reaction from her body, with only a touch, the merest hint of a caress. 

“It is one thing behind closed doors and away from prying eyes. I can stand for that but I will not allow you to make a fool of me, in front of the court. My rule rests upon quicksand, still, we need to put up a strong facade for all the doubters. Can you do that for me?” His last words were a wicked whisper, his scalding lips barely brushing against the lobe of her ear. Elia did not respond. Her husband’s hand travelled down to the inside of her thigh, gently caressing. 

“I have never cast doubt upon your presence openly, I am not so foolish.” Rhaegar almost smiled. 

“To some extent, you have. I allowed it, for you were hurting and I was the one who had caused it. Now, I am a crowned king and there is no time for such mummery. The open refusals to do what I ordered will have to stop, Elia. If I say ride with Lyanna, Aemon and I, you will do so, without scorning my Kingsguard for obeying my commands.” He spoke with the voice of a king. The Dornish queen could not recall when it was that she lost her gentle and sweet-spoken Rhaegar, to this strange new version of him. _Perhaps I never had him, to begin with._

“That girl is the face of our pain, the very embodiment of our struggles. What ran through your mind as you wed her? Surely not us, your family. Was it that she was sweet and fresh? A wild flower, ready to be plucked? Did she fuck you like a Lyseni courtesan, was that it? I can not for the life of me, figure out how she managed to ensnare you like this.” Elia’s voice was taunting and she felt his grip on her thigh tighten, as the other continued to wander on her neck. 

“Don’t,” her husband warned and there was fire swirling in those indigo eyes, there was. 

“Or did you think that I would be pleased? That I would embrace her with open arms? The child is blameless, but neither you or that wolf-girl are.” The queen dragged a finger along the parts of his exposed chest, watching as it reddened beneath her nail. “Perhaps you thought that because I am Dornish,” she hissed, “That I would enjoy it, that you could have to queens to share your bed. The prophecy never demanded that you wed her.” 

“It wasn-” 

“-You would like that, wouldn’t you?” she asked, scornfully as she moved her hand downard and felt that he was still hard. “To watch one wife with the other one’s head beneath her thighs, knowing that both belonged to you?” _Men, highborn or low, kings or peasants, they all think with their cocks,_ she bitterly thought as she pursed her lips.

Rhaegar looked down, pouting, as if ashamed because he knew that her words held meaning. “You are still a man, no matter how many think you a god.” 

“It is not like that, Elia,” he whispered, sounding weary and defeated. The Dornishwoman laughed dryly. 

“Oh but it is, Rhaegar. It is.” 

“I love you,” he said, leaning down to kiss her jaw. 

“If you did, then why did you leave us?” Her question did not require an answer. 

“Begone, Rhaegar.” Elia slid away from his grasp and found herself missing the warmth.

“Return to that child you call your bride.” she swallowed and donned her robe, sloppily tying it around her waist, leaving too much of her bosom on display, for her own liking. _I can’t be bothered to care, not at this hour._ “I am sure that she is patiently awaiting you.” Her husband looked equal parts sad, scorned and angry, _however that may look like._ He gave no reply, but simply strode toward the door. 

Suddenly, he froze and turned around, his silvery hair swaying gently. 

“Tell your brother to behave. Prince Oberyn will not be spared a sentence on the account that he is your blood, make sure that he is aware,” Rhaegar said in a quiet voice. 

“But you will pardon the wolf-girl’s brother,” Elia sneered.

“He is the last grown branch of House Stark that remains, thanks to my father. The young Benjen has joined the Night's Watch and Lord Eddard’s son is still a babe in arms. They’ve paid for this war.” 

“So have we,” Elia replied, angrily. “10,000 spears, was that all I was worth? My uncle died for this war that you caused. I blame you for it, and her.” 

“I know,” Rhaegar began. “But it will not excuse Oberyn if he commits a folly, make sure that he knows.” She wanted to slap him, she did. 

“Think back to this night, husband,” Elia spit. “Recall your emotions, for that is how I felt after you ruined us. No words can ever excuse that.” 

“And mayhaps have your wolf-girl deal with that. They do breed them wild, in the north, do they not?” she pointed toward the bulge in his breeches. It was cruel, she knew but she was angry, so very angry at all the injustice.

“Goodnight, Elia. I will see you in the morn,” he sighed and opened the door. Elia moved toward it as well, ready to close it behind him. Her husband gave her a disapproving look when he saw that both Ser Arthur and Ser Jaime glanced at her exposed skin, however quickly it was, before averting their eyes forward. Arthur rose the barest hint of an eyebrow when he saw what state the king was in, and then at Elia’s cruel smile. 

“Good eve, husband.” Rhaegar did not reply, he merely nodded without looking at her. 

“Come Arthur,” he snapped and Elia had to stifle a giggle. 

“Yes, My King.” 

Ser Jaime turned to Elia with a shocked expression and a youthful look in his eyes, as if he wished to laugh. 

“What did you do?” the Lannister whispered, almost to himself, for he knew that he had no right to ask such questions. He was merely there to guard her through the night. 

“I unburdened my heart,” she smiled as she watched Ser Arthur and Rhaegar’s departing bodies, a blur of silver and armor. 

“It must have been one hell of an unburdening, from what I heard,” Jaime allowed with sparkling eyes. “I thought Ser Arthur’s vein would pop in his forehead and the King looked to have fared no better.” 

“Make your assumptions, good ser,” she smiled. “But know that you cannot share them with anyone, or I fear the price will be your life. And I have grown rather fond of your presence, Rhaenys would miss you even more, i’d wager.” The knight nodded, chuckling softly. 

“I heard nothing, nor did I see anything but you should perhaps tie your robe tighter next time, My Queen. Or I fear Ser Arthur will faint like a maiden in distress.” Elia giggled, even though she knew that she shouldn’t laugh. _It feels nice to be carefree, if only for a few moments._

“Good night, my good Ser. I shall see you in the morn.” The Dornishwoman moved to close her door.

“Good night, My Queen,” Jaime said with a gentle smile. 

***

When Lord Stark arrived, Elia was feeding Aegon some mashed bananas, which he duly enjoyed, based on his wide, purple eyes and frequent smiles. 

“Your presence is required in the throne room, this day, My Queen,” Ser Oswell said, after having been sent to fetch her by the king. 

“Why?” Elia asked, frowning softly. “I was there for yesterday’s pardons.” 

“The king commands it, it is not for me to question,” he smiled apologetically.

“Very well then,” Elia said smoothly, lifting Aegon up to hold him against her chest. The knight looked at her and the babe with apprehension.

“Forgive me, My Queen, but is it wise to bring the prince?” _Truly? Perhaps not, yet it might do the treasonous lords good, to see what the cost of their betrayal might have been._

“Let us hope the throne doesn’t slice me for my insolence,” she said darkly and saw humor glint in his blue eyes. 

Princess Rhaenys was not with her mother, for she had lessons with her septa in the art of courtesy and Ser Jaime was present with the young girl. _She is too young for all this nonsense, when I was her age, I was playing in the water gardens with Oberyn. When my health permitted it, at least._ The princess was a precocious young girl, however, already reading (in a fashion) and blathering on about things too philosophical for her age. _Just like her father,_ Elia thought and did not know whether to smile or feel melancholy. _She is his, through and through, all she does is look like me, with added beauty and strength._

“How did you find Dorne, Ser Oswell?” Elia asked as they were walking in the hallway. Aegon was toying with her hair and the arms of her blue gown. The knight seemed to falter for a second, as if he had forgotten that he forsake his duty to watch over a child with child. 

“Hot, My Queen.” 

“Oh, yes,” Elia smiled. “The climate is not kind to strangers. Especially those that have no business being there in the first place.” She allowed him to make what he would, of her cryptic words. 

“A worthy observation, My Queen.” He sounded gruff when he spoke the words, as if the mere reminder of his betrayal still stung. _It should._

Rhaegar looked every inch a king as he sat atop the iron throne, with that crown of rubies and regal grace. The wolf-girl stood by the foot of the throne, to his left. She was dressed in a surprisingly humble gown of grey wool and there was no babe at her breast. _She looks so young,_ Elia observed. The glow of youth was still upon her. Ser Oswell announced Queen Elia’s presence to court and she garnered a relieved smile from Rhaegar. The queen willed herself to smile back. _Put on a show, he said. That is what I will do._

Elia took her place to the right of the throne, not far from Lyanna. She offered the other queen a smile out of courtesy and proceeded to look forward. It was dull, truly and she did not know why Rhaegar had summoned her there. Thankfully, her son was calm and almost fell asleep to her gentle, swaying motions with his head in the crook of her neck. Elia hugged her son tighter and stroked his tuft of silver-gold curls. She was too busy to notice how both her husband and sister-wife briefly glanced at her with warmth. Did any mother ever love her children more?

The queen was busy hymning a song to her sleepy son, when she heard her husband address the new lord. 

“Lord Stark,” Rhaegar greeted and Elia’s eyes snapped toward the wolf-girl’s brother. _He arrived? Was he not supposed to arrive in the morn?_ Queen Elia did not know much about the younger Stark son. _They call him the quiet wolf and Ashara was fond of him, very much so._

 _So this is the man,_ she thought. _The one whom Robert Baratheon called his closest friend. The one who fought against my husband and within that, my children and I._

“My King,” Lord Eddard replied solemnly, bowing deeply. 

“Arise, My Lord of Stark,” Rhaegar said and Lord Eddard did. 

“You stand accused on the account of treason in the highest degree, how do you answer these charges, Lord Eddard of House Stark?” The introducer’s voice echoed in the large throne room and Elia found herself intrigued as to what he would say. She turned to Lyanna and saw that the girl was pale as a sheet, her grey eyes sparkling with tears. _Of shame, for what she did? Of sadness, for what it may cost her brother?_ The Dornishwoman was aware that the Stark siblings had lost both a father and a brother, _all in thanks to Lyanna and Rhaegar’s mummer’s farce._

“I am guilty, My King. I fought and bled beside the rebellious traitor, Lord Robert Baratheon.” It was not what the Dornish queen expected of him. _I thought he would offer soothing, honeyed words of how he was coerced into it, of how he regrets it and begs mercy._ This was it? He would just lay down and allow himself to be kicked? The northern queen eyed her brother sharply, as if begging him to plead for forgiveness, for his life. 

“Do you have anything else to add, My Lord?” Rhaegar asked, wearily.

“I beg your mercy, My King. I have a son and a young wife to care for. I am also the last male of age left in my house, as my brother Benjen joined the Night’s Watch and my son is no more than a babe in arms.” 

Rhaegar pondered for a few moments. _Well… he pretends to ponder. This is all a farce to appease the court, to pretend that justice has been done. His judgement has already been passed._ She had been told that Lord Stark would arrive to swear fealty, _which means he was to be pardoned, all along._ Elia could not help but feel bitter, for some reason unbeknownst to her. It wasn’t that the queen ill-wished this lord, _he seems kind and honorable but he fought against the crown. Is he pardoned for justice, or on the account of being the wolf-girl’s brother?_

“I am a man of mercy, as you will see, Lord Eddard. We all make mistakes, some more grievous than others,” the king began and Elia had to hold back a snort because it all sounded so horribly ironic and rich, coming from a man such as him. “I will not rob House Stark of a true leader, not after all your tragic losses. I will pardon you on the basis of a few conditions.” 

Lord Stark nodded grimly, his grey eyes seeming dulled after having experienced the spoils of war. 

“You will swear fealty to the crown and I, as king. You will also swear upon a Weirwood tree that you shall never take up arms against House Targaryen or the crown, for all of eternity. We will strip you Moat Cailin and give it to a lord of proven loyalty. The last is that your second-born child is to be sent to court when they reach the age of ten.” It all seemed far too lenient, if you asked the Dornish queen. _Who in the gods’ names would want Moat Cailin?_

“They are all reasonable demands, My King. I agree.” He was not a man of many words, Elia came to notice. His second child had not yet been born and even though no one would speak the words, it would be the crown’s hostage. _For betrayals committed in a time of war and to prevent new ones._ Then, Lord Eddard got on his knees, unsheathed his sword and raised it above his head, swearing his life to the crown and promising to never take up arms against them, ever again. The ripples of Ice almost blinded Elia, _the beauty of that sword. Valyrian, like Rhaegar. Forged in the fires of a lost freehold._

“Arise, Lord Eddard,” her husband repeated with a smile and the man did. 

“Ned!” Lyanna squealed, sounding younger than Rhaenys and running to embrace her brother.

“Sister,” he greeted but there was steel behind his words, an unspoken tension that seemed to breed uncertainty in the wolf-girl’s heart. 

Somehow, Elia felt sick when Rhaegar tried to smile at her. _Oberyn did nothing wrong but Rhaegar will spare him no mercy if he misacts._ She looked toward the young Lyanna, talking animatedly with her brother who nodded. _This man committed treason and is given a mock-sentence. Is this the king’s justice?_ She hoped that Rhaegar wouldn’t dare tell her that he was not indulging his queen in this. _Speak the truth, instead of honeyed lies,_ she thought, bitterly. 

Elia walked around in court for a while, conversing with the ladies and lords, donning her false smiles. She allowed them to take part in Aegon’s sweet giggles and to see that he was as pure a Targaryen as could be. The little babe charmed the court, not unlike how his sister would. _They will have all sorts of ladies and lordlings clambering for their attention, once they grow older._ The thought of her daughter being hounded by lordlings almost brought Elia into giggles, for the girl was adamant that she cared for no boys but her brother and her cat. The Dornishwoman had told her daughter that Balerion was not her brother but Princess Rhaenys had simply pretended she hadn’t heard.

“My Queen,” a voice said behind her. Courteously, Elia turned around and was greeted by the solemn face of Eddard Stark. 

“Lord Eddard,” she smiled and offered her hand, for him to kiss. He did so, dutifully. 

“I wished to pay my respects upon you… and my apologies.” 

“I do not recall that you have wronged me, My Lord,” Elia replied softly, holding Aegon’s wandering hands still, with her own. 

“Whether it was by my own hand or my sister’s, you did not deserve the horror that was inflicted upon you during this war. I apologise for your uncle’s death, as well. He was a great man,” Eddard allowed, solemnly and the concern warmed her heart, in a way. An incessant voice told her that it was not real, however, that it was only out of courtesy. How deeply the Dornish queen wished to be able to trust people, to believe that there were no hidden motives. 

“I thank you for your concern, My Lord. My sympathies are with you as well, you lost both a father and a brother to this rebellion.” 

“My brother was always a little too hot-headed than was necessary.” A rueful smile touched the northener’s lips. She had laid eyes upon Lord Brandon once. _His brother is not uncomely, Brandon was simply surpassingly comely. Yet this one has a good head on his shoulders._ The queen meant that both literally and metaphorically. 

“My husband is not his father,” Elia felt forced to say. _Rhaegar is a good man, even though he has done me many wrongs, he will be a good king. Perhaps even a great one. Then my son will rule and I will teach him to be good, he already has it in him._

“That is a kindness to us all, My Queen. Lyanna seems taken with him and has promised to show me their son, later in the eve.” Elia looked down at her own son, his fair skin and the unworldly hair. 

“Yes that seems splendid,” she smiled. “Prince Aemon looks every inch his mother.” what was conveyed there, was that the babe looked nothing like her husband and Ned seemed to understand. 

“Forgive me for breaching but I do hope you and my sister get along. I cannot begin to imagine or understand how you felt, but Lyanna is young and has a good heart, albeit a bit too willful for her own good. I am not happy with her actions and what brought us here, but I love her. She is all I have left of my siblings and parents, except for Benjen.”

“We have not had the time to talk properly yet. A queen’s duties are almost as heavy as a king’s it seems,” Elia replied, trying to avoid how her heart sympathised with the man. 

“I know my sister and she will want to make amends. Lyanna knows that being young is not an excuse for this. I told her. All I ask is that when the time comes, you listen to her before coming to a judgement.” Elia smiled. 

“Lighten up, Lord Eddard. It is too pleasant a day for brooding on matters we cannot change.” The man smiled shyly and Aegon giggled at the stranger. 

“This one likes you, it seems, Lord Eddard.” The Dornishwoman was almost glowing in the presence of her son and the light that he brought. 

“I am glad that I could offer you relief, My Prince,” Lord Stark said and stroked her son’s cheek, making the babe erupt in even more giggles. “And you may call me Ned, if you wish it, My Queen. We are family now, after all.” 

“Alright, Ned,” she smiled. 

They had some polite conversation and then the lord asked her a suspicious question.

“How fares the Lady Ashara? Your lady-in-waiting, if I recall?” 

“Last I heard, she gave birth to a daughter whom she named Naella,” The Dornishwoman began but then she frowned. “I hear there was trouble with the babe, though. She would have perished, were it not for the maester’s valiant efforts to keep her with us.” Relief seemed to cloud Ned Stark’s features, then. 

“The child, it is a bastard, then?” _That word sounds so horribly crude, I care not for it. It is a child, leave it at that._ Elia nodded but pleaded with her eyes, for him to understand. 

“They are not so great a shame in Dorne. Naella will have a pleasant life and Ashara will be a wondrous mother.” 

“That is good,” he smiled but it looked nervous, as if something was gnawing on him. _Ashara never told me who the father to her babe was…_ The Dornishwoman made a note to ask Oberyn if he’d heard anything, when he arrived in King’s Landing. From behind Ned, Elia could see Rhaegar walking toward them, the wolf-queen in tow. 

“Elia,” her husband greeted, kissing her forehead softly. She was pleased to see the faintest outline of red on his throat, even though it had been many days since that crazed ordeal. 

“Husband,” Elia curtsied lightly with Aegon fussing in her arms. “Queen Lyanna,” she also forced herself to say with a practiced smile. _I pray none of them will ever be able to tell which ones are real and false, that could prove to be my ruin._

“Queen Elia,” the wolf-girl began with a shy smile. “I see you have made the acquaintance of my brother,” she finished, eyeing the Dornish queen with a strange flicker in her grey eyes. 

“Yes, Ned has been a delight to converse with.” Elia wondered what Lyanna had thought, when her husband returned to her chambers, sporting carnal marks and a foul mood. _Did he even offer an explanation?_ The Dornishwoman would have given all the gold of Casterly Rock, to find out what became of that. 

“You humble me, My Queen,” he said, smiling as softly as his face would let him. 

As if the gods had answered her prayers, Aegon began to grow impatient in her arms, moving, fussing and letting out occasional wails. 

“Forgive me, but I think that the little prince is hungry. I will take him to the wet-nurse and see to it that he grows sated.” Rhaegar looked as if he wished to argue but nodded.

“Please return, if you find the time, My Queen.”

“Of course, husband,” she smiled, even though they both knew that it was a lie. 

“I will be seeing you around the Red Keep, then, Ned?” 

“Yes, My Queen. I shall be lingering for perhaps a fortnight.” 

“That sounds splendid,” she began and turned to Lyanna. 

“Good day.” Lyanna smiled but it did not quite reach her grey eyes.

“Good day.” 

“Elia,” Rhaegar called before she left.

“Yes?” she asked gently. 

“Ser Arthur will accompany you.” That made the Dornishwoman confused, for she thought that Rhaegar knew of how she disliked it. _Perhaps this is his way of getting back at me, for my cruel jape._

“Alright,” she smiled, not wanting to create a fuss in front of court and she felt strange.

When she was out of earshot, accompanied by a surprisingly solemn Arthur, she stopped. They were close to her chambers, but far from the nursery. Elia leaned against the pale, cool wall and sighed. Aegon was still fussing and she felt faint. The day had been very taxing, _it was not easy to stand for so long._

“Are you well?” Ser Arthur asked her, concern swirling in those violet eyes. 

“Yes, just give me a moment,” she breathed.

“Here,” Arthur said and offered his arms, to take Aegon and unburden her. She allowed him to. _I just need to rest._

“Thank you,” she said, quietly and watched as the tall man embraced her son and swayed slightly. 

“Do not cry, My Prince. Your beautiful mother needs a well-deserved pause. We shall give it to her,” the man said comfortingly to her son, kissing his forehead. The sight broke something inside of her, something she thought did not exist. 

“He is hungry,” Elia said, closing her eyes as she felt a powerful headache emerge. 

“Then we shall get him fed, My Queen.” 

“I have not the strength to walk to the nursery, he will must needs make due with me.” She had never produced enough milk to sate her children’s growing appetites but she was sure that she had enough for a feeding. _It’s fine,_ she told herself. 

“Your chamber is not far from here, come along, Elia,” Arthur whispered, holding one hand out, to help her get up. She grasped his hand and he pulled her up with ease. 

“It is alright to need help, once in a while. It does not make you weak,” the man told her gently, pulling her to his side. “You may lean on me.” The Dornish queen did not have the strength to argue. Together they walked, Arthur with Aegon in arm and Elia leaning against the other. The hallway was empty, most were likely present at the feast in the great hall.

There were no servants waiting in her quarters, for she had dismissed them earlier, saying that she had no need of them for the day. _I felt so strong this morning, what happened?_ Arthur opened the door with one hand and beckoned her to enter. The room was dim, with a hearth burning slowly and a few candles lit. A wave of nausea hit the queen but she sat down on the chair, breathing hard.

“Tell me what to do, Elia, shall I call for someone?” Ser Arthur asked, nervously.

“No. It will pass.” He nodded and swayed with Aegon, singing a Dornish hymn for her son. 

“The Dornishman’s wife?” she asked him wryly and would have laughed, were it not for her fatigue. 

“Her kisses were warmer than spring,” Arthur sang to her son who stared at the man intently. 

“You have a lovely voice, you always had,” Elia admitted, sighing, and even though her heart still bore the scars he left, she could not fathom it in her, to scorn him this day. _Not now._ Do not mistake her kindness for weakness or forgiveness, it was not. _Sometimes we have to prove amiable, even with the ones we are no longer close, for perhaps we loved them once. Who they were, not necessarily what they became._

“If I was not a knight, then I would have been a singer,” Arthur said in a soft voice. _If you had been a singer and I hadn’t been a princess, then we could have wed. We could have moved to Lys, Tyrosh or Volantis. Far away from here._

“Give him here,” Elia beckoned the man and he obliged, handing a wailing Aegon to her.

“Hush, my sweet, I know,” she sighed and tried to feed him but her gown was too tightly laced at the back and would not budge. 

“Arthur?” she finally asked after he had watched her struggle for moments.

“Yes, My Queen?” he replied, looking down.

“Can you unlace the back of my gown?” Even in the dim light of the room, she saw his cheeks redden. 

“Yes, your grace.” Elia turned around and focused on comforting her son, as she felt the warm fingers on her back, unlacing the gown, tenderly. She patiently waited for him to finish and sighed when she felt him stroke her back in a manner that felt very pleasant, undoing the knots that plagued her. 

“That is enough,” she said and his fingers moved away, only leaving the faintest hint of their presence.

She began feeding Aegon, who latched on without a fuss, as he must have been starving.

“Oh, you were famished, my sweet. I am sorry we stayed so long,” she whispered, stroking his silvery tufts of hair. The Dornish queen could not bring herself to care if Arthur watched. _It is nothing he hasn’t seen before._

“How is Oberyn?” Arthur asked her, suddenly. Perhaps the silence as he watched her nurse her child, was too much. 

“Oberyn is most certainly wroth,” Elia replied, dazedly. The world seemed a blur and she wished to sleep, to lay down and fall into the comforting arms of slumber. She almost succumbed, until Aegon tugged too harshly and she was startled awake. Arthur moved to her side and touched her forehead.

“You do not seem well, Elia.” 

“It will pass. It happens on the occasion.” The knight nodded, but sat down next to her and stayed by her side, to assist her in holding Aegon. 

“You smell of home,” she noted as she laid her feverish head in the crook of his neck.

“I do?” he asked her and she opened her bleary eyes, to be met by violet ones, staring into the empty parts of her.

“Yes. Of the fresh sea-air, the peach trees and that spicy, musky scent that Oberyn boasts, as well. It makes for a pleasant combination,” she admitted. 

“I miss that man and his japes,” Arthur laughed and patted Aegon’s back as he swallowed too fast and began coughing lightly. 

“He will be more inclined to kill you than hug you, I fear.” Ser Arthur smiled and kissed her cheek as her eyes were closed. _No, you should not have done that,_ she wanted to scold but no words escaped her tired body. 

“Well what does it matter? For all men must die and i’ve tasted the Dornishman’s wife.” 

“Don’t get cheeky,” she warned but there was a warmth in her words. Arthur had not known how desperately he’d missed it, until it was there again. 

“You should change it to the Valyrian’s wife,” she sighed. 

“I should, shouldn’t I?” he asked but there was only hopelessness lacing his words. _What a mess they made of things._

When Aegon was done feeding, she burped him and then he was content, falling asleep almost instantly as he was placed in the cot.

“Goodnight, my love. This eve, you will have to sleep with me, it seems.” “But you love that luxury, do you not?” she smiled. Arthur helped her unlace that wretched corset and was there if she needed aid with her nightgown, as well. 

“You are quite the woman,” Arthur mused with a sweet smile. 

“I am nothing out of the ordinary.” Her voice was tired and soft.

“But you are,” Ser Arthur began. “No one else would dare do what you did to the King that eve.” Elia almost giggled. 

“Was he very wroth?” she asked and Arthur chuckled, stroking her arm as she sat down next to him on the bed.

“He kept muttering on about women and how he knew that it was too good to be true for nothing real feels that pleasant.” 

“It could,” Elia replied and sensed that the knight knew what she was speaking of.

“Yes, it could.” 

“Then he turned sad and quiet. As if something tore at him, too fierce to be explained by words. A burden too heavy to be borne.” Elia could not find it in her to forge a witty reply, _let Rhaegar hurt if he wishes. He deserves to, for all the tragedy he caused._

“You could be executed for this, you know?” she asked quietly.

“For what?” the knight asked.

“For telling me of the king’s private matters. For kissing my cheek and touching me, as if you have the right to.” 

“But you will not tell.” He was correct in that. 

“No. I won’t, yet it needs to stop, Ser Arthur.” Her mind was a mess but she needed to say this.

“I still care for you,” he whispered. “I miss you.” 

“You betrayed me twice, Arthur. Nothing between us will ever be the same. We were spoilt from the start.”

“I still think about you,” he offered quietly, the words suffocating them both.

“And that is all you will ever be able to. I am the king’s wife and you are his sworn guard. That is all we were ever destined to be.” 

She tiredly turned toward him and allowed herself to stroke his cheek-- in a weak attempt to quiet her bleeding heart. Elia did not like the way it hurt, to see his violet eyes brimming with tears.

“We danced too close on the line of pleasure, it would never have amounted to anything other than pain. We were young and foolish, but sometimes even that is no excuse.” the white knight nodded and allowed a tear or two to slip past his cheeks.

“I will never forgive myself.” Elia did not quite know what to say to that.

“I will die for you.”

“You almost died for the wolf-girl, what do I do with those words? Will they unmake the fear and the sleepless nights? The pain of looking upon your child, knowing that they are doomed to die?”

“No they won’t, yet I will never betray you again. The thought of falling upon my sword is more appealing than that.” 

“You will,” she sighed. “If Rhaegar commands it so.” 

“No. I will die, then, but not before making sure that you and the children are safe.” 

“Words are wind, Ser Arthur,” Elia replied, softly.

“They are as true as my love for you.” The Dornishwoman felt too ill to reply. 

They remained like that, quietly leaning on each other until Elia was half-asleep.

“Let us get you to bed, My Queen.” She had no quarrels with that. When all was said and done, she climbed underneath the warm covers and breathed a sigh of relief. _Sleep will wash this away, I hope._

“Thank you, Arthur,” she mumbled, for a lady could never forget her courtesies, much less a princess or a queen. Loreza Martell had drilled that into young Elia’s head. The knight sat down next to her, stroking her hair like he used to.

“It was of no consequence. You overexert yourself too much,” he scolded, gently. 

“I am a mother and a queen, it comes with the titles.” 

“For now, you can simply be Elia. I will be here until you fall asleep. Rest now, my flower.” The queen did not know if she wished him to stay but his fingers felt so soothing in her hair and his voice was so lulling. _It is fine,_ she told herself. _Right now I am not a queen and he is not a knight of the kingsguard who betrayed me. Dawn will wash away our memories and leave them little more than a fever dream._

No one touched her like this, no one comforted her like this. _Sometimes I just wish to let go, but there’s never anyone there to catch me when I fall._ Some people remain far too strong for their own good. It tears at a person, just like it did the young Elia, who lived for her duties, her daughter and her son. Never for herself. 

It takes its toll in the end, it does. 

Elia fell asleep, dreaming of the things that would be. 

She was too far gone to notice how a knight of the kingsguard softly kissed her goodbye, before he left. 

Or how it broke Arthur Dayne’s heart to look into the cot where her son slept, knowing his actions could have impacted the child who had not yet lived, severely. 

The gods had much in store for Queen Elia of House Martell but she knew naught of it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: To clarify, I see some of you guys are speculating that Elia is pregnant and that's not the case lol because Rhaegar didn't... he didn't... are y'all gonna make me say it? 
> 
> Also, the reason why Elia felt ill toward the end of the chapter was because she had been (like Arthur said) overexerting herself and compromising her already delicate health. She's still not 100% recovered from birthing Aegon and it's hard standing for a long amount of time with a kid in your arms and the stress simply got to her. 
> 
> smol bean needed to rest and recover, basically.


	5. There's something broken about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our problematic fave Oberyn is in the houseeeee! 
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, and I hadn't planned on ending it where I did, but it just seemed right, y'know? I was actually struggling for days to write this chapter because I wanted to do it justice, to make it feel right and I hope it's to your taste. 
> 
> The next chapter will have many, many *laughs evilly* things happen in it and we will finally see what became of Viserys and Rhaella, so stay tuned. 
> 
> Don't forget to give a kudos and please, please leave a comment because I love reading them (even though i'm shitty at replying) Just know that I appreciate them so much. 
> 
> P.S: I did write this in the last A/N and feel like it was made explicitly *Blushes heavily* clear that Elia is not pregnant but I loved reading your theories about it lol. 
> 
> PPS: might change the name of the chapter later, idk. 
> 
> PPPS: This has not been edited and I finished this last part with a massive headache so forgive me for any faults.
> 
> Until next time, 
> 
> <3

When Prince Oberyn arrived, Queen Elia waited in the courtyard to greet him, alongside her children, King Rhaegar, Queen Lyanna and the babe, Aemon. There were guards present, of course, with Ser Arthur, Ser Jonothor, Ser Oswell and Ser Jaime standing, not too far away from the royal family. _I do not know why this is necessary,_ Elia thought in dismay. Only the King’s presence had truly been needed, not Lyanna or her babe’s. _Oberyn will be irked to just see their faces._ She knew her brother and he would not take it lightly. _This is spitting in his face, Rhaegar should know better than to poke a viper of Dorne._

“Mama, I am tired,” Rhaenys complained, raising her little arms in a wish to be carried. _I am sorry, my sweet. My arms are full with Aegon._ Rhaegar moved to speak but Elia beat him to it. 

“Ser Jaime,” she called softly. “Would you mind carrying Rhaenys? I do not wish to coddle her but she is weary of standing, which we have been doing for quite some time.” _Oberyn does not believe in being late, he always said that everyone else was early._ The Lannister knight nodded and picked up a smiling Rhaenys. Jaime kissed the young princess’s forehead softly, when she laid her head in the crook of his neck. _Everyone is weak for those lavender eyes._

“I could have held her,” Rhaegar said quietly, staring straight ahead with annoyance lacing his words. 

“Now you needn’t,” the Dornishwoman replied, cooly. 

The day was hot and humid, so Elia had chosen to wear a lighter gown, made of red silk, instead of the traditional woolen and heavily corseted ones. Her hair was done in one long braid and the crown rested atop her dainty head, weighing it down with its burden. The Dornishwoman had dressed in that fashion mostly to seem as if she still was of Dorne, no matter how many years she had spent in the south. _I wonder what Oberyn will look like_ … It had been years since she’d last seen his face.

King Rhaegar was dressed impeccably, boasting a handsome doublet of red and black, alongside black breeches and his crown. His long, silvery hair rested in smooth waves, down his shoulders, giving only the tiniest reflection of gold. The wolf-girl, however, was dressed in another one of those woolen dresses that she loved so well. It was the color of a deep crimson and the Dornish Queen did not like the way it made them look similar. _The pale king and his dark queens,_ Elia thought wryly. 

When the Dornishwoman glanced at the bundle in Lyanna’s arms, she found it strange how the boy’s eyes seemed so wary of his surroundings, even as a babe of only two moons or so. _He is so quiet, quieter than Aegon and Rhaenys ever was._ It seemed that Prince Aemon had inherited his father’s nature, to Elia. _Rhaegar was never the people-pleaser, or the grim brooder._ He was mysterious, shrouded by intrigue and adored by almost everyone he met. _His beauty helps, people are always inclined to love what is comely more than what is not,_ she thought grimly. The Queen suspected that what drew ladies and lords alike to Rhaegar, was that he was so hopelessly sad, so hauntingly lovely. Everyone wished to mend his hurt, to unmake the sorrow in his voice as he sung and played upon his silvery harp. 

Galloping horses brought Elia out of her thoughts and she felt her heart race in her chest. _He is here! He is finally here,_ she thought and tried to suppress her utter glee. She turned Aegon around in her arms and whispered softly to her son.

“There is your uncle, my sweet. He has longed to see you.” The young crown-prince seemed taken by the scene of at least a dozen sand-steeds, all with silken black manes and dressed in the colors of House Martell. Elia turned toward Jaime and the young Rhaenys with a cheerful smile. She did notice that Ser Arthur looked a little nervous. _We’ve not truly spoken anything but courtesies since that night, seven days ago._

“Are you excited to see your uncle Oberyn?” Elia asked her daughter who nodded shyly. 

The horses stopped a few yards in front of them and the riders dismounted. She spied a tall man in the distance, helping a woman dressed in a provocative, orange gown, down her horse. _Is that Oberyn, truly? He looks so… different._ The man she had left behind was young and still glowed with youth. _Now he glows with a certain danger,_ not to Elia, of course, but the sharp way in which he carried himself was eerily hypnotizing, like a dancing snake. The woman and the man began walking toward them, their entourage in tow. 

“Elia!” the dark-haired man called and she felt her breath catch in her throat, as tears of joy brimmed in her eyes. _Oberyn, I am here, I am here!_ The queen turned to her husband, her face glowing with happiness and he returned it, looking pleased to see her truly smile, after so long. She wanted to run to her brother, to embrace him and tell him to never let her go. However that was a girl’s fancy, _a queen can do no such thing._

“Oberyn,” she whispered and felt Aegon tug on the loose strands of hair that framed her face. 

A man walked in front of the two strangers, reaching the king and queens first. He had the look of a Lyseni upon him, with pale, flaxen hair and icy blue eyes. _He is comely,_ Elia found herself thinking. _Not as comely as Rhaegar or Arthur, but a worthy carrier of the famed Lyseni beauty._

“My King, My Queens, “ the man began with a deep bow, his accent a mix of a heavy Lyseni drawl with a tinge of the spicy Dornish. It sounded poetic, almost like a song or when Rhaegar spoke in Valyrian, so softly. “I give you Prince Oberyn Martell and his paramour, Ellaria Sand.” Rhaegar almost choked at the words and tried to disguise it as a cough. Lyanna seemed aghast. _Do not look so horrified, sweetling. That is what you were before Rhaegar wed you in a hasty ceremony, most like in front of a drunken, poor septon, somewhere in the woods._

The Lyseni man rose and rose the slightest hint of an eyebrow, at the king and northern queen’s reactions. Elia offered him a warm smile, before turning to Oberyn and Ellaria who had reached them by now. 

“My sweet Elia, is that truly you?” her brother asked and she felt the strange wish to cry, to throw herself into his arms and weep like a babe, newly born. Instead, she smiled and nodded. The tall prince, who looked every inch a Dornishman moved to stand in front of her, his eyes never leaving hers. 

“My Queen,” he said thickly and got down on one knee, bowing his head low, looking onto the ground. Elia blushed, the title of queen still making her uncomfortable. 

“Rise, Oberyn,” she told him softly. He obeyed and moved to embrace and kiss her cheek, holding her fiercely. 

“I’ve missed you, sister,” he whispered and his smell was just the same. _Home._

As Oberyn stepped away from her, she noticed that young paramour of his. _She is pretty, with those full lips and high cheekbones. The eyes are a calm green and she has a kind glow about her._

“You must be Ellaria,” Elia Martell smiled and the woman returned it, yet got on one knee and bowed as low as her brother had, if not even more. 

“My Queen,” she repeated and Aegon giggled in his mother’s arms. 

“You may rise, my dove.” The woman did and looked to Aegon with longing. 

“Such a beautiful babe, My Queen.” 

“Would you wish to hold him?” Rhaegar eyed Elia warily at that but she paid no heed and offered her son to the natural daughter of Lord Uller. Ellaria Sand accepted the princeling with a mother’s tenderness, kissing his cheek and cooing softly to him. 

“Beware, he likes to charm,” the Dornish queen laughed. 

“Like his uncle,” Ellaria said with a smirk toward Oberyn. 

Her viper of a brother turned toward the King and northern queen, his entire demeanor changing. 

“My King,” he greeted, stiffly bowing (if one could even call it that), not bothering to get on his knees and looking straight into Rhaegar’s eyes. Elia’s husband swallowed nervously and nodded, donning a false smile. 

“Prince Oberyn. It has been long since we saw you in the capital.” 

“Yes, the last time was at your wedding, to my sister. I see you’ve grown rather fond of marital ceremonies.” Prince Oberyn eyed Lyanna Stark cooly. 

“And you have not,” Rhaegar smiled but it had been the wrong thing to say, even Elia knew. _Rhaegar brought Oberyn’s retort upon himself, I am just glad to witness it._

“No but I do not need vows to remain faithful to my paramour,” the Red Viper smiled venomously. “And I consort her before we bring others into our bed. In Dorne, we believe in equality between both man and woman.” Rhaegar lost his smile quickly upon hearing that and cleared his throat. 

“Oh, I almost forgot to greet you, My Queen. It is not often that any realm knows two of them.” 

“It is quite alright,” Lyanna Stark smiled nervously. Oberyn moved to her with a panther-like grace, taking hold of her hand and kissing the top of it with soft lips. The northern queen blushed scarlet and Elia was pleased to see that Rhaegar’s eyes darkened in dismay. _Are you afraid that Oberyn will charm your pretty little queen out of her smallclothes?_

“Rhaenys, greet your uncle,” Queen Elia said but her daughter buried her head into her sworn shield’s glistening, golden curls. 

“Now is that Princess Rhaenys?” Oberyn turned toward the Lannister holding his niece. “I thought she was half a cat,” The Viper of Dorne said in mock-confusion. Elia’s daughter giggled and shook her head, making even Jaime smile. “Is that not true? I thought some cruel beast you call Balerion was part of you.” 

“Balerion is no beast,” her daughter screeched. “Egg loves him and Ae, too!” 

“Will you show him to us later, My Princess?” Ellaria asked smoothly and the young Rhaenys turned her head, with those smiling lavender eyes and dimpled cheeks, nodding furiously.

“He likes to hide in the kitchens or in mama’s chambers.” 

“Then we will surely happen upon him, now will you not give your uncle Oberyn a hug?” “I brought you a gift from Dorne,” he whispered mischievously and the princess began squirming in her white knight’s grasp, desperate to get to her uncle. 

“There you are,” Oberyn laughed as he picked the small girl up, twirling her around in the air, her giggles lighting up the strange tension in the air. 

“That is enough,” Rhaegar told Oberyn who stopped immediately, turning to the king with Rhaenys on his hip.

“But it was fun, papa, do it again, uncle!” Oberyn rose an eyebrow at the king who seemed strangely uneasy with the man holding his daughter. _Do you think he would harm his own blood? Have you forgotten that you were the one who left us here to die, not Oberyn._

“I think that we should get inside. You must be weary from travel, we will allow you to rest before supper this eve.” Rhaegar sounded every inch a king and it almost ruined the joy in Elia’s heart. _Why must he sour this moment?_

“Perhaps. It would be pleasant to wash the stink of King’s Landing off of us, wouldn't you think, Ellaria?” the woman nodded. “And you, Lyro?” Oberyn’s smile was simply depraved as he stared upon the Lyseni introducer. 

“I agree,” Lyro replied with a handsome smile, a lone dimple gracing his cheek. 

“I am sure that the inn the entourage will be staying at can arrange for baths,” Lyanna spoke, trying to seem queenly. Oberyn turned to her with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. 

“Lyro will be staying with Ellaria and I, in our chambers.” Both the wolf-queen and King Rhaegar seemed to choke on their tongues then, the scene so hilariously amusing that Elia found herself giggling a little. It was no secret that Prince Oberyn preferred the company of men, as well as women. _My brother is not the sort to be ashamed of his cravings, he takes what he wishes and rue the one who tries to stop him._ She admired that in him, she did. _He is strong, stronger than i’ll ever be._

“Very well then,” Elia said with a beaming smile. “A tub will be brought to you.” Ellaria sand returned Aegon to the Queen with a soft look in her calm, green eyes. 

“You are lucky to have such a pleasant son. He is the sweetest boy I have come across in all my years.” “And that smile,” the woman tut-tutted. “He will be doted upon by lords and ladies alike.” Something changed in Rhaegar’s eyes then. Was it disgust simmering in those pools of indigo? _You have no right,_ Elia thought angrily. _You have no right!_

With Rhaenys still in the prince’s arms, they all walked through the courtyard, entering the Red Keep.

“Papa and Jaime have longer hair,” Rhaenys told her uncle who laughed.

“Your papa and I have many things differing us from each other, hair is not the only thing, My Princess.” The red viper’s tone was taunting, almost and Rhaegar gave Elia a warning glance. 

Suddenly, Oberyn turned around when they were at the entrance.

“Ser Arthur,” he said in false glee. “I am glad to see that you are back in one piece.” Oberyn patted the knight on the back, harshly. Arthur briefly glanced at Elia with worry in his eyes. “It must have been perilous, guarding a girl in a tower,” her brother smiled, cruelly. Lyanna looked uneasy and Rhaegar seemed distant toward the entire ordeal.

“It is good to see you, My Prince,” Ser Arthur replied, chivalrous as always. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Prince Oberyn handed Princess Rhaenys back to Ser Jaime and turned back to Arthur, leaning in to whisper, slowly and hauntingly. “Ashara told me to tell you that she will haunt you throughout the seven hells, if it is the last thing she does. You have earned nothing but her ire through your heroic actions, it seems.” The white knight turned sad then, she saw. 

“Ser Arthur is a knight of the kingsguard, no longer a Dayne.” Rhaegar’s voice was hard.

“And does that make my sister any less a Martell? Or your young queen, any less a Stark?” Oberyn asked, teasingly. “No one ever fully lets go, My King. If they tell you any different, then they are naught but dirty little liars, I fear.” 

“That is your opinion, Prince Oberyn.” 

“No, that is a fact. Ask anyone and you will hear, Your Grace.” Oberyn Martell turned to his sister and the babe in her arms with a fixed gaze. “Family will always remain family. No matter how hard you try to take it away.” Her husband simply nodded and changed the subject.

“The servants will show you up to your chambers Prince Oberyn,” Rhaegar began. “I have some matters to tend to and Rhaenys will resume her lessons with Septa Myranda.” Elia wanted to argue, to allow her brother time to get to know her oldest daughter. _Oberyn will stay for a while, it is fine. He will have time to bond with my children,_ she tried to comfort herself by thinking. 

“I hope you do not mind if my sister accompanies us along the way, Your Grace?” 

“Not at all,” Rhaegar smiled but she could discern the warning in his eyes. _He wants me to tell Oberyn to behave._

“Be good for Ser Jaime and Septa Myranda, Rhaenys,” Elia told her her daughter sternly. 

“Yes mama.” How she had birthed such an obedient child was beyond the Dornish queen. _Her heart is gentle and her wits are sharper than most children her age._

“Will you show me Balerion later, princess?” Oberyn asked her daughter, who nodded furiously in Ser Jaime’s arms. 

“Very well then,” Elia smiled, readjusting Aegon in her arms. “Let us depart.”

“My King, Queen Lyanna,” Oberyn said, barely sparing the northern girl a glance as he turned around. Ellaria said her courtesies as well, colder than even Oberyn’s. The servants led the way to her brother’s chambers, with Ser Jonothor of the Kingsguard trailing behind them. 

“How is Doran?” Elia found herself asking. Has his illness gotten any worse? 

“He is well. The sickness still afflicts him but he is doing his best to persevere, Arianne said she missed her aunt Elia and great-uncle Lewyn.” That made the queen feel sick with heartache. _She is only a girl, poor thing._

“And Quentyn?” 

“The boy is gentle, albeit a little too arrogant for his own good.” 

“Said the raven to the crow,” Elia laughed and even Ellaria joined in. 

“I am not arrogant,” Oberyn said, pretending to be offended. 

“Then the sky is not blue, brother.” 

“Am I arrogant, Ellaria?” The woman smiled and turned to Lyro.

“Is he arrogant, Lyro?” 

“Will I fall from grace for speaking my mind?” The Lyseni asked with a pretty smile. 

“That depends,” Oberyn replied with a predatory smile. 

Elia got on her toes to gently slap her tall brother in the back of the head. 

“Behave,” she scolded and her brother yelped. 

“Damn, woman, I have not even been in your company for one hour and you already chastise me.” His eyes remained fond, though, sparkling with affection for his sister, whom he thought would lose her life, not long ago.

“Well, I am still your elder. I have that right,” Elia’s voice was almost snobbish but the look on Oberyn’s face made her facade crumble into sweet giggles. 

“Only by a year,” her little brother frowned.

Her son giggled in her arms, as well, perhaps pleased to see his mother happy. 

“That boy has the look of his father but his nature is all yours, sister.” 

“Your daughter has the prettiest of eyes, My Queen,” Ellaria said in awe. “Like lavender skies.” 

“She gets those from her father, as well,” Elia replied evenly. “They are dragons, aye, but of the sun.” 

Suddenly, the servants stopped and curtsied. 

“It seems we have reached your chambers, Oberyn.” 

“I thank you for that observation, My Queen,” her brother snorted. 

“Do you want a clout in the ear? Like mother gave you when you told her of your first child?” Prince Oberyn winced. 

“No, i’d rather not. If I think hard enough, the pain appears all the same.” 

“The maesters call it phantom pains.” 

“That, they do.” 

Elia turned and saw Ser Jonothor waiting for her. 

“I shall see you at supper, then?” 

“We would not miss it, sister.” Oberyn’s smile was softer than his sharp features. 

“Perhaps we could talk after?” Elia asked, almost nervously, for she knew that Ser Jonothor would report to the king, so she did not wish to say too much. “It has been so long and I wish to hear of all your excursions and such.” The Dornish prince was no fool and took her meaning plainly. 

“Of course, as My Queen commands, I will tell you all about it.” 

With her goodbyes said, Queen Elia turned around and began making the walk toward her chambers, where she would rest and then be made ready for supper this eve. She did not speak to Ser Jonothor but was aware of his presence behind her, the clinking of his armor and the feeling of being a caged bird. _I just want to be set free, to spread my wings and fly away._ Yet the Dornishwoman did not know if she still could fly, _it has been too long and the restraints were set too fiercely._ Now she felt but a bird, with broken wings.

“Are you tired, sweetling?” Elia gently asked her son, who was moving and frowning, a wail threatening to escape from his trembling lips. “You were fed not long ago, Aegon. We must not be gluttonous,” she smiled at her babe, whose purple eyes seemed too large and innocent for this cruel world. The Dornish queen placed the prince in his cot and stroked his chubby cheek. 

“Melly will take you to the nursery when you wake, to be fed. Alright?” The Targaryen princeling fussed and huffed for his mother’s gentle embrace but in the end, he settled down and fell asleep, exhausted. 

Elia herself removed the silken dress that she had worn and instead chose a simple shift to sleep in. She placed her lovely crown on the table beside her, rejoicing in how a weight was lifted from her shoulders. A weary sigh escaped her lips, only to be replaced with a tender smile. _Oberyn is here_ and the thought brought a comfort. Her brother always knew how to make her feel safe, how to calm her heart and offer a consoling that she could accept. _He never made me feel weak, even when we shared our worst quarrels._ Prince Oberyn would never cross that line, to belittle and invalidate her in such a manner. _Everyone needs a brother like Oberyn and one like Doran. The rash and the calm._ Yet some need a sister like Elia, as well. The one who danced on the line in the middle, never quite crossing over to either. 

Queen Elia fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. Slumber brought her a peace that was rarely felt these days. 

***

“He is late,” Rhaegar said stonily, eyeing the entrance to the hall. Lyanna looked uncomfortable with the arrangement of her being seated with the Viper Of Dorne in front of her. The children were not present and this was meant to be an intimate dinner, free from disruptive, prying ears and reaching lords. 

“Oberyn lacks a concept of time and place. It’s a shared trait of yours,” Elia said, evenly and earned a fiery look from her husband. 

The table was lavishly decorated with an embroidered quilt in cloth-of-gold and silver. An array of hot dishes such as stuffed mutton, honeyed lamb and various arrays of stews and vegetables, were resting atop the table, waiting to be dug into. To be honest, the Dornish queen was not feeling particularly hungry but she would eat, nonetheless. _Otherwise Rhaegar will surely fall into his sympathetic ways and telling me that I must eat, or I will fall ill._

The Dornishwoman was dressed in a flowing gown of emerald, her skin bare of any jewelry, save for the crown atop her head. She allowed her dark locks to fall freely beneath her back and truly looked a Dornish beauty. The wolf-girl wore a gown of pale pink and was donning her crown, as well, alongside an ornate direwolf necklace. _For once she is not wearing those horrid woolen gowns that makes one swelter in this heat._

After a few more minutes, her brother entered, alongside his paramour. _I forgot to tell him not to bring Lyro, but it seems he had enough sense to discern that, himself._

“Please excuse our tardiness, My King,” Oberyn began, looking handsome in his embroidered, red doublet. “We were occupied otherwise.” 

“It is of no consequence, Oberyn,” Elia said and swore she could see Rhaegar’s left eye twitch. 

“Please be seated, My Prince,” the king allowed and Oberyn nodded, pulling out a chair in front of Elia, which would be Ellaria’s seat. The bastard of Hellholt looked lovely, with her dark hair in two braids and a flowing gown of sunset orange, clinging to every curve of her body. 

“Ellaria,” Elia greeted and the woman smiled shyly. 

“My Queen,” she replied and then turned to Rhaegar and Lyanna. “My King, Queen Lyanna.” Rhaegar acknowledged it with a curt nod. 

“My Lady,” Lyanna said stiffly and Oberyn laughed. 

“Ellaria is no lady, My Queen,” he said, sitting down. “But she lives better than most ladies could ever dream, wouldn’t you agree, my love?” the paramour nodded.

“Oh,” was all queen Lyanna said. 

“Yet if it is so easy to make queens, then the making of ladies should prove far easier, do you not think, My King?” Oberyn asked dangerously. 

“All things demand their processes, Prince Oberyn.” 

“Ah yes, they do, don’t they?” “But who pays for that, in the end? We on the top seem to take and take, leaving the unfortunate ones on the bottom to clean up our mess. It makes for a pleasant life, yes. But what is the cost of lies and betrayal?” her brother helped himself to a grape that was on a platter of arranged fruits. Rhaegar moved to speak but Elia moved to calm the impending storm, to minimize the casualties.

“A worthy question, Oberyn. Perhaps we should ask the maesters.” 

“Those dried up cunts never have anything but ambiguities to speak,” Oberyn said, his accent tickling the words. Queen Lyanna almost choked on her wine and was blushing a beet-red, by the time that Rhaegar asked if she was alright. 

“We shared a girl from the north once, did we not?” Elia’s brother asked his paramour, frowning softly. _No, Oberyn, keep your tongue in check, please. This is not Dorne._

“Dalla,” the woman confirmed. 

“Ah yes, that was her name. She was a bit frigid though, I must say.” 

“How so?” Rhaegar asked indifferently, catching on to Oberyn’s ploy like a fish on a hook. 

“Well you see, My King,” Oberyn began with a leer. “In Dorne, our women are warm. They dazzle with only a touch. I must confess that I prefer that, to a cold, pale body that will lay as if dead, beneath me.” The Dornish queen thought she heard Ser Jaime snort at the Red Viper’s remark, but he cleverly disguised it as a cough. 

“Everyone has their preferences,” Rhaegar replied, eyeing the Dornish prince cooly. 

“Yes, but why settle for the moon, when you already have the sun?” Her brother turned to give his paramour a gentle kiss to the side of her neck, which made her giggle and shy away from him. 

“To keep things balanced, I'd assume.” Elia gave Rhaegar a look that could make flowers wilt, even the northern queen looked almost abashed at her husband’s comment. _Is that all we are to him? Pretty things that he can have in his possession?_ The thought was unjust, she knew, for Rhaegar loved his family but it did not make his betrayals or crude analogies sting any less. 

“And you were alright with it?” Lyanna suddenly asked Ellaria who shrugged. 

“Oberyn is a man that has the decency to consult me, before making decisions that could impact our lives. He also listens, values and takes my thoughts on the matter into account, even though we are not lawfully wedded. Some are not so benevolent.” Her green eyes glittered in the low-lighting and made her look like a tantalizing seductress. 

“What a clever analysis, Ellaria,” Elia said evenly, taking a sip of her wine and avoiding the feeling of her husband’s eyes on the side of her head. “Perhaps it would do many a men good, to follow that counsel,” she continued. 

The setting for the entire supper had been hostile and full of not-so-hidden jabs, rude and occasionally, crude comments. Most of them came from her dear, sweet brother who seemed to be seething on the inside. _He hates Rhaegar,_ she realised but hadn’t she always had an inkling? _And my husband knows._ Elia did not know what Oberyn thought of the wolf-girl, _but surely he cannot hold her in very high respects, considering. I just hope he is not planning anything reckless… Oberyn was always more rash than he was rational, if any mishap occurs, he will be the first suspect and not even I will be able to save him._

Toward the end of the supper, Oberyn had drunk far too much of the wine, for Elia’s taste, or perhaps he was simply pretending to be drunk, _to excuse his poorly hidden jabs._

“I do not know how your white cloaks do it, My King,” Oberyn said, laughing as he took another sip of wine. “Pleasure, lust and love are the greatest indulgences that one can engage in, during this cursed life of men.” 

“They swear holy vows, Prince Oberyn. A godly oath matters more than a fleeting carnal release. It gives them strength, for the gods are with them.” Elia almost snorted into her goblet, _did you not swear a vow to me? In front of gods and men._

Both Elia and Lyanna remained quiet, intrigued as to what the Red Viper would say henceforth. _He has that look in his eyes, the one that always means mischief._

“Oh, but I do find a woman’s love more endearing than any of the gods. If fucking was part of worship, would we all not be holier for it?” Elia kicked her brother under the table and glanced at the she-wolf. 

“Pardon my crude words, My Queen...s” Oberyn said in a false apology, not knowing whether to address Elia as well. _I’ve heard worse during a calm eve with him, this is nothing._

“It was of no offence, Prince Oberyn,” Lyanna said with a queenly grace. Oberyn looked as if he wished to gag. 

“No doubt you heard worse in the north, My Queen. Your people are quite the bawdy bunch, and not very friendly to strangers, might I add.” 

“Some people are simply like that,” her husband said, rising to his young queen’s defence. 

“You are quite right, My King. Yet I must confess that I only ever truly happened upon such in the north. Perhaps it was all in my head.” Oberyn’s smile was simply vicious. 

“Brandon used to tell me that he preferred a coarse truth to honeyed lies and empty flattery.” _Ah, the winter rose has thorns,_ Elia thought. _But the viper has fangs. Venomous ones, at that._

“I never had the pleasure of meeting your brother. He was killed here in the capital, was he not? As he came calling for King Rhaegar to come out and die, after your supposed kidnapping.” Oberyn paused and took a swig of the Dornish red “Such a shame, truly a waste of a promising man. If only he had known that it was not the king’s way to abduct, why he has every maiden in the realm wet and willing for him,” Oberyn continued with the indifference that only he could boast. “You have my deepest sympathies.” There was no sympathy or empathy in her brother’s words, he wished to twist the knife already placed in Lyanna’s gut. 

The willful look in Queen Lyanna’s eyes disappeared and they seemed to be sparkling with unshed tears. Elia almost felt sorry for the girl but then she felt the bitterness, all over again. _Would she have wept those tears, upon witnessing my murdered daughter’s corpse? Would she weep for Aegon as if he was her own? Or would she be happy, that her son would be the next king and that the dragon prince’s first family was but a tragic memory?_ It was unfair to think such of a person she barely knew, yet what was she meant to think? The Dornish queen knew that Lyanna had lost, but those losses she had brought upon herself. _Her and Rhaegar._

“I think I might retire to bed, if I have your leave, My King?” Elia felt the wine get to her head and her words sounded mocking. She eyed Oberyn, as if pleading with him to announce the same, so they could speak privily. _Without all these incessant facades._

“Of course, My love,” Rhaegar said, so soft and brokenly that she almost felt her heart clench painfully. It was that voice he used, when she would wake up in his arms and the world was not yet a mess and her heart did not bear all these complex feelings, that she could not quite name or understand.

“We should retire, as well. By your leave, My King,” Oberyn said and Elia was surprised by how it nearly sounded polite. 

“Yes,” Rhaegar nodded tersely. “It is late and we are all in need of a good slumber.” 

“I was not planning on sleeping,” her brother whispered loudly into his paramour’s ear. Ellaria blushed prettily and curtsied to the king. Then they all went their separate ways. Elia, to her chambers and the king with his girl of a queen, to theirs. Oberyn would pay a visit to hers, not long after. _I suppose Rhaegar will find out one way or another._

***

Ser Oswell barely had the time to announce her brother’s presence before Prince Oberyn sauntered into Elia’s chamber with an easy grace. 

“Brother,” Elia greeted, smiling big and wide. She had been waiting for him to arrive, it had been almost two turns of the clock since their dinner. 

“Forgive my lateness, sister. I was held back.” her brother kissed her cheek and embraced her firmly.

“It’s quite alright, Oberyn. You are a most wanted man, after all.” 

“I apologise that you could not spend more time with Rhaenys and Aegon, but tomorrow is another day, is it not?” her voice was soft, almost sheepish and she eyed her brother with a tenderness. He had grown taller and more like a man, since she last saw him. _He is grown now, the light of youth has left him but he is still the same. Still my Oberyn._

“It is and I look forward to it.” The Prince Of Dorne sat down on one of the plush chairs and gazed at the fire with a strange intensity. Elia moved to sit next to him. 

“What is on your mind, Oberyn?” she asked gently.

“How dare he bring that girl to sup with us, does he have no shame?” Oberyn spit. “She is little better than an adulterous harlot!” 

“Calm yourself,” Elia pleaded, aware that the knights outside did not belong to her, and would report every single thing heard, to their liege, the king. “You must not speak treasonous words.” then she leaned closer and her words became a mere whisper.

“In such a loud tone of voice.” 

Nodding, Oberyn took a deep breath and spoke again, quieter this time. 

“Uncle Lewyn is dead, 10,000 Dornishmen are dead, for this silver-haired cunt to claim the throne when he was the one who started the war, by fornicating with that northern bitch.” “I thought I would lose you, and the children, as well,” the Dornishman said, with tears glimmering like crystals in his dark eyes. “I would have killed him myself if anything happened to you. Neither gods nor men could have stopped me.” 

Elia took his large hands in her dainty ones and looked straight into his eyes. “I am here, Oberyn. We made it.” The words were not supposed to sound so haughty, so dreadfully sorrowful but they were said with almost a morbid weariness. Suddenly her eyes were brimming with tears as she thought of gentle and clever Rhaenys, bruised and bloodied. Of her sweetest Aegon, with the kind nature and charming smile, gone forever, dead or alive. _Nothing was ever guaranteed,_ she thought as her eyes glazed over. 

A calloused thumb wiping away her tears, brought her out of her horrid thoughts. 

“I’ll cut his cock off with a dull blade, if you so wish it. He does not deserve your tears, sweet Elia.” She laughed tearfully at that but there was no joy to the sound.

“Let him keep it, so long as I get to keep you.” Oberyn smiled but it looked empty. 

“We will be staying for a moon’s turn, sweet sister. After that, I will need to return to Dorne, to my daughters and Doran. His gout has grown to be more severe than we anticipated.” 

Frowning, Elia replied. “Is there no stopping it?” Oberyn shook his head, his black curls glistening in the candlelight. 

“The maesters can soothe his pain, but naught else. The rich man’s disease, they call it.” 

“I miss him,” she whispered, even though Doran and Elia had never been particularly close, he took over as a protective figure, when they lost their father. 

“Doran has never frightened me before, but when he heard of your imprisonment and Rhaegar’s folly, I thought he would travel to the trident, to kill the silver bitch once and for all. Our calm brother said he would rally all of Dorne and bring destruction upon those who had a part in your harm, were you to have perished or been injured.” 

“Doran would never willingly go to war,” she shook her head with a soft smile, still holding his hand and stroking them absent-mindedly. 

“He would have. We would have. If not directly after, then when the time would be ripe. Dorne does not forget, these southron cunts should take note of that.” 

“These southerners are a nasty bunch, are they not?” she giggled. 

“When we were in Dorne,” her brother began wistfully. “You walked among vipers yet none would bite you.” The smile vanished from his face and was replaced with a bleakness. “This is a different kind of snake’s nest, Elia. It’s infested with dragons, lions and griffins and monsters. Every single person in King’s Landing would betray you, if it earned them the slightest of favor. Trust no one but those whose heart is already yours.” The Dornish queen nodded. Her brother leaned in, to whisper in her ear. 

“I will kill anyone who harms you. I could have him gone, you know. All you need is ask.” 

“What will that accomplish? Yours would be the first head on the pike an-” 

“-Death is not so great a cost to pay for you.” Oberyn was full of a grim determination.

“He is a good man at heart and he will be a just king,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against her brother’s and cupping his cheeks. She felt tears escape her Dornish eyes and slide down her cheeks. “He loves our children and even though he caused all of this horrid reality, I could never wish him dead. I won’t forgive him and I am still angry and hurt but I cannot lose you, as well. Do not leave me all alone.” Her last words were feverish pleas. 

Then she started weeping and Oberyn embraced her soothingly, with a tenderness that only a brother could harbor for their sister who had suffered so much. 

“I won’t,” he promised and stroked her hair as she wept in his arms. 

“Come back with us, it is time that Dorne saw their dragons and their gentle sun.” 

“I can’t,” she blubbered. “I begged him but he says the realm needs to stabilize first. He said I could go but without the children and I cannot leave them behind, Oberyn. I cannot.” 

“Fuck the realm and his cursed throne. He brought this upon himself, his crimes are not yours to pay.”

“I do not want to be here, in this haunted castle full of ghosts. I want to rest, Oberyn. I am so tired.” He stroked her back and kissed the side of her head. 

“I will push for him to allow a journey to Dorne. He needs to indulge me here, or risk the wrath of Dorne.” 

“He will come and he will bring _her_. It is a slight to our people, they’ll call me weak for allowing it, the dragon’s frail bitch.” she could be weak with Oberyn, she could weep and fear and complain, he was her brother and most of all; he understood.

“They will do no such thing. You are beloved all around Dorne, Elia. They burn for you.” 

“He will not pass Aegon and Rhaenys along in the line of succession, will he?” Oberyn asked, danger lacing his words. “Dorne will go to war if he does, we will fight for our heirs. No pups of that northern bitch shall take what's rightfully my niece and nephew’s.” 

“He will not,” she soothed her brother. “I would not have stood for it. If he had, we would have declared war, then and there. Even if the price was my head.” 

“They are good, Aegon and Rhaenys. You have not failed them, Elia.” 

“I could not protect them.” the tears returned again, more powerful than before. 

“We were going to die, Lord Varys told me to prepare for it. There was nothing he could do for us, save try to smuggle Aegon out.” Oberyn’s entire body stiffened. 

“I had to look upon Rhaenys for a fortnight, knowing her and my time was coming to an end. I had to hold my son in my arms, knowing it was almost for the last time. That I would not live to see them become adults or have children of their own, that they would never grow to claim their birthrights.” 

“He was fucking a girl in a tower, shamed you publicly and begot a child on her, a son. How dare he even touch you, or be in your vicinity? What fucking king weds his whore? Even Aegon the unworthy had more honor than that.” The Viper Of Dorne’s words were silent and deadly, filled with so much hatred and bitterness that it could wilt even the most prosperous of flowers. “How do you know she won’t conspire to put her northern pup atop the throne?” 

“Rhaegar prom-” 

“He promised to honor you, to love you in front of gods and men. He promised to protect you and beautiful, noble Rhaegar Targaryen lied and left his wife, for a girl who is barely a woman.” Oberyn’s caresses were tender but his words stung, with the bitter taste of truth. 

“If she even tries, then we will rally all great lords to Aegon’s cause. Aemon is third in line, no lord who values the succession that rules even their lives, would support it.” 

“What if they prefer a Northman to a Dornishman atop the iron throne?” Oberyn asked. 

“They will prefer a Targaryen. My children look the part, her son does not.” Elia’s brother thought for long moments, absentmindedly stroking her hair, like he used to, _when we were children and not playing at being queens and princes in this wretched game of thrones where no one truly wins and all must lose some._

“That, they do. Be wary of her, Elia. There is something in her eyes, I like it not.” 

“Ice?” 

“Cold.” 


	6. We are not equal parts light and dark.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am your brother, I see what these fat lords and lickspittles do not. There is sadness in your eyes, the kind you try so desperately to hide.”  
> “It comes with queenship.”  
> “No, it comes with the dragons.” “Pretentious cunts,” he continued and Elia giggled a little but looked around warily, after.  
> “You must not say such things…” “Openly,” she whispered. “Promise me.”  
> “Only for you, my sister,” he drawled. “The gods know that he deserves more than words.” The Dornish queen rose an eyebrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a solid minute but here's a new update for you guys. It's very long, last I checked this badboy rested at more than 12,000 words, so enjoy lmao. 
> 
> Thanks for all the continuous support on this story and I value each and every one of you. 
> 
> Would be super intrigued to hear your thoughts on this chapter and stuff so don't forget to leave a kudos if you liked it, and a comment down below. :)
> 
> Beware: this was finished in the early hours of the morning and I haven't edited yet, so i'm sorry if there are any mistakes. I'll get to it when I edit.
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> <3

During Oberyn’s third day in the capital, it was Lord Eddard’s last day. Both her brother and Lord Stark had remained quite separate from each other, with cool courtesy being used in the event that their paths crossed in the Red Keep. Elia had told her dear brother to be cordial with the young Stark, for he had showed her kindness and Lyanna’s crimes weren’t his to pay. 

_“You are my brother, Oberyn. As Ned is Lyanna’s.”_

_“I know,” The Red Viper grumbled, casting his eyes downward._

_“If I had done what she did, would you scorn me for it? Would you hate me and treat me cruelly? Would the affection you harbor for me, dwindle and grow into bitterness?”_

_“No. I love you.”_

_“As he does, her,” Elia said, softly, stroking her brother’s arm as he turned his dark gaze on her. “You would berate me and tell me of all the consequences of my actions, I am sure, but I fear that would be all. If our heart bears a fierce love for something, then it is hard to befoul it with hate and scorn, however much we’d like to,” she continued._

_“And him. Do you hate him?” Oberyn asked quietly. The Dornish queen felt her throat tighten at the question. Did she? What she felt these days was blurred on the grey lines betwixt white and black._

_“No. However much I tried, I cannot. When the rage and anger ran its course of me… I do not know what remained and I have been too frightened to look. I must needs turn my attention toward my children who need me.” The fragility in the words of Queen Elia was palpable. “Rhaegar and… Th-he is a different matter, an exhausting one. I will put it on hold for as long as I can.”_

_“I see,” Oberyn said, his brown eyes softening. “I will still kill him, if he ever hurts you again.” She laughed brokenly at that._

_“Oh I do not know, Oberyn,” Elia sighed as her brother ran his hands through her hair. “I am so angry, relieved, sad and happy at the same time, and i’m still trying to find out how that can be.”_

_“It is natural, Elia. I only wish that there was something that I could do, to relieve you of it.”_

_“It will run its course,” she promised him. “And you are here. It is all the relief I need, it was years since I last saw your face.” Her brother smirked._

_“It is hard to forget such a handsome face,” he said arrogantly. It was just to make his sister giggle and Elia knew. She was thankful._

_“Don’t flatter yourself,” The queen scoffed._

During the morn, Elia decided to seek Lord Eddard out, to speak words of farewell. Rhaenys and Aegon were with their wet-nurse and nursemaid, Melly, which was where Ser Jaime was, as well. The duty to shadow the Dornish queen fell to Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. Elia did not really have any quarrels with it, for the knight always treated her respectfully and had a witty sense of humor. However, she had been notably cool toward him after he returned from her homeland. _Oswell knows why, he does. I hope he feels shame for it, it is the least he can do._

“Ned,” Elia called with a smile as she saw the Northman breaking his fast in the great hall, alongside Howland Reed, the small crannogman who seemed an inch or so shorter than the Dornish Queen herself. “Howland,” she added softly and he smiled shyly and mumbled a courtesy. 

“Queen Elia,” Lord Stark greeted her, his grim face lighting up. “The sun of King’s Landing.” That made her laugh. “Oh, I do not know about that.” 

“You are leaving today, I take it?” she asked the Northerner and he nodded.

“Yes, I must return to my wife and son, and Winterfell needs its lord.” 

“How dutiful of you,” Elia mused. “Has your stay in the capital reached your expectations?”

“It has been lovely, My Queen,” Lord Stark said humbly. “My sister seems... alright, considering the circumstances and that is all one could ask, for their family.” _Yes,_ Elia thought. _Especially when that family-member commits treason and is the cause for a rebellion to break out. Your sister has just as much blood on her hands as my husband does, I fear._

She acknowledged his statement with a curt nod. _I know it was not his intent to slight me or such, but the words taste bitter when they’re fed to me. If the wolf-girl was truly happy here, then it would have irked me, enraged me, even. For after the consequences of her actions, happiness should not seek her out._ The Dornishwoman had not forgotten that she, Rhaenys and Aegon had been on the brink of death, all thanks to Lyanna of House Stark. And Rhaegar of House Targaryen. 

“I do wish you the best for your journey north. And you must write to me and tell me all of the little lordling that awaits you there.” The babe Robb was not much younger than her own Aegon, though her son’s first nameday was approaching quickly. 

“I will, in fact; my Lady-wife would most like wish for a mother to correspond with, herself, as she is young and values experience. I would have suggested Lyanna but she is so young and you have been a mother for longer.” _Yes. I pray that your sister never has to look upon her son and see him dead in front of the cursed throne. That she never has to live with the knowledge that one of her children are doomed to die, whilst the other one’s fate is uncertain._

“I am sure arrangements could be made for that, dear Ned. However motherhood is an ever-learning experience and it never ceases to surprise. I would not say that I have mastered it by any means, I am simply bending to its will,” she smiled kindly. 

“Judging by the young prince and princess, you have done an excellent job and should be proud. The Princess Rhaenys has a clever mind and gentle heart, Prince Aegon is charming and sweet, you and the king are very blessed to have such endearing children.” _At least Rhaegar did not fail me in that,_ the Dornishwoman thought. _He gave me two wonderful babes and for that, I am ever grateful._

“You are too kind, Ned. I hope that one day our children will meet.” 

“I do, as well, My Queen.” Then, their time was out and Lord Eddard had to prepare for the journey, and Elia wished to see her children. 

Oberyn had taken the day to show Lyro and Ellaria around the city, with an experienced guide, of course, so he would not be back until supper that eve. A troubling thought made its way to Elia’s mind. Rhaegar had a minor feast prepared, which entailed that all of the Royal family needed to be present. _I cannot indispose myself, for he will know that I am not ill._ The warning still burned fresh in her mind. _He will not stand for any public insolence, he told me as much._

Somehow, Oberyn and Ellaria had managed to see as little of the silver king and his Northern queen, those days after the intimate supper. Elia had pondered that perhaps it was to give them space, because Rhaegar and Lyanna were actively avoiding the Dornishmen, or Rhaegar had duties to tend to and the wolf-girl hid elsewhere. Now, it was going to change and the Dornishwoman was nervous to see what the night would bring. Surely sun, dragon and wolf would quarrel, beneath cool courtesies and false talk. It was tiring work, to keep up the incessant facades and read beneath, to find the hidden meaning of words spoken so pleasantly. 

“Ser Jaime,” Elia said pleasantly, eyeing the Lannister knight who stood guard outside the nursery, alongside a soldier of lesser rank. 

“My Queen,” he replied, with an easy smile that seemed to make his green eyes sparkle like the purest of emeralds. 

“I hope my daughter has behaved.” It was empty conversation, but she felt as if she needed to say something else. 

“Ah, yes,” the knight replied, fondly. “She read to me earlier, an excerpt of the conquest. The princess is blessed to be able to read so well, for a girl of three.” 

“She takes after her father, no doubt. Some used to jest that Queen Rhaella must’ve swallowed some books during her pregnancy, for Rhaegar came out so bookish.” The knight’s smile faltered a little. 

“I am pleased for her. I was plagued with an ailment that prohibited me from properly reading until I was much older. The letters jumped out of place and such,” he explained. 

“Oh,” the queen frowned. “How did you cure it, did you ever?” A sort of melancholy seemed to take over Ser Jaime, then.

“My father he… he forced me to read until I could,” the knight faltered. 

“I hope he was not too harsh on you, Ser. There are plenty of lords who cannot read well, and a knight of the Kinsguard need barely be learned as a maester,” she said, unsurely. _I do not wish to offend him._

“He did what he thought was right. What upheld the Lannister legacy properly.” The statement did not bring her ease. 

“Well then it is great that you have a princess of your own to read to you, and that your father is not here and…” Elia did not know if she should continue. What was left unsaid between them was; _and that you are no longer a Lannister, so upholding legacy matters not._

“It is, My Queen,” Ser Jaime replied curtly and the Dornishwoman entered the nursery, hearing her daughter’s sweet voice. 

Rhaenys was reading to her little brothers, when Elia arrived. Aemon was placed in their nursery, at Rhaegar’s behest, for the children to bond and the Dornish queen did not mind. _He is their brother, may they bond strongly, so that we will not have another Daemon Blackfyre on our hands._ The energetic Balerion was there as well, resting comfortably in his princess’s lap. 

The cat was a curious thing, the runt of one of the kitchen cat’s litter but he charmed the princess nonetheless. He had a temper, though and was wont to scratch and hiss at anyone who was not to his liking. Fortunately, he seemed fond of Elia and the princelings, as well. Prince Oberyn was yet to make the cat’s acquaintance, for Balerion was always somewhere else, when the prince came to see his niece and nephew in their nursery. 

“Melly,” the Dornish queen greeted with a smile. “How are the children?” 

“The princess is-” The nursemaid faltered when she heard Elia laugh good-naturedly.

“-I meant your own children, all of mine seem well to me.” Realisation dawned upon the woman’s face then and she blushed a pale pink. 

“Oh, they are well, m’queen. A bit tempestuous sometimes, but they’re children, y’know?” 

“Ah, yes,” the queen smiled. “My brother has not outgrown his tempestuous nature, though.” That made the woman laugh. 

“Prince Oberyn is quite the peculiar man.” 

“I should like to hear you say that to his face, It would keep me amused for at least a fortnight.” Elia’s eyes were sparkling and she felt almost young again. 

Melly moved to speak but Princess Rhaenys’s voice echoed through the room.

“Mama, look, Ae is smiling,” the young girl said with glee in her lavender eyes. Queen Elia turned to look at the babe in the cot, and sure enough, the babe was glancing at his sister with mirth clouding his features. It was the first time she saw Prince Aemon without those wary eyes and uncertain nature. _Well, he is a babe. One always needs to expect the unexpected with those._

“He is,” Elia allowed warmly, walking to his crib and reaching a finger out to stroke his chubby cheek. The princeling turned his eyes upon the Dornish Queen then and she wondered how anyone could ever look upon such a being with hate in their hearts. _He is but a babe, and does not deserve to suffer for the actions of those who came before him._

“You are hard to charm, but are you not the sweetest little thing, once one sees behind those walls?” she whispered to the prince and found herself stretching an arm out to pick him up, but stopping at the last moment. _He is not mine to embrace,_ she thought. _Lyanna would not touch my children unless I allowed it so, therefore I shall not act as if I have the privilege to do so, to hers._ Grey eyes met her brown ones and she felt tears brimming, forcing herself to look away. 

“He seems hungry,” she told the wet-nurse, quietly. Melly seemed to understand that something had transpired within the queen, even if she did not know what. 

“They always are at this age,” the woman smiled kindly. 

***

Ellaria Sand made a surprising visit to Elia a few hours before the feast.

“I thought I should come and visit the closest thing I have to a good-sister,” the woman said with a soft Dornish drawl. Those words warmed the Dornish queen’s heart in a way. _Ashara is not here, and I never had a sister._

“Where is Oberyn and Lyro?” Elia enquired gently. 

“Oberyn said he wished to show Lyro the sept and the Godswood, they do not have it in Lys.” 

“Ah, no doubt Oberyn will find some way to defile it,” the queen laughed. 

“I would not put it past him, he never ceases to surprise,” the bastard of Hellholt replied with a wry smile.

“Tell me of Dorne,” The former princess murmured softly, leaning back into her armchair as she heard the fire crackle on merrily. 

“Dorne never forgot you, My Queen. You were their princess long before you became the Dragon King’s Queen.” 

“Sometimes I do not know what I am,” Elia Martell sighed. “Nor my place. I do not quite belong in Dorne anymore, no more than I do here.”

The young paramour moved closer to Elia, softly caressing her arm. 

“Dorne is your home and the sun never abandons one of his children.” “One day you will return, I promise. You will meet Arianne, Doran, Tyene, Nymeria, Obara and Sarella. That, I promise you,” Ellaria continued fervently. 

“Oberyn is a year my junior, yet he boasts double the amount of children that I have. Rhaenys and Aegon will not lack any cousins, at least,” she smiled. 

She felt a cool hand touch her forehead and lightly run through her dark hair. 

“It is time that you had your soft and sweet ending. You have been so good and it is your right,” Oberyn’s paramour said, frowning. 

“The Gods may not agree with you. All they do is bring me more grief, it seems.” 

“One day you will find your peace.” 

“Let us hope,” Elia said even though she did not believe the words. 

After that, they spoke of lighter topics. Ellaria told her of the beauty that was the Water Gardens, of the first time she saw Oberyn and when they met Lyro, in Lys. Elia listened intently, relishing in the soft-spoken and sometimes fervent words. She saw the happiness light up the woman’s green eyes, when she spoke of Oberyn and even his bastard daughters. Obara was the warrior, Tyene more lovely than the sun, Nymeria fierce and Qartheen on her mother’s side. Sarella was of the Summer Isle’s, with a fair face and the loveliest complexion. Ellaria seemed happy with her brother, and shared that she did not worship the faith of the seven, but a Lyseni love goddess that Lyro had told her of. 

“The greatest form of worship is love,” Ellaria breathed and Elia could do naught but agree. 

“It is tragic that not all know of it.” 

“Indeed, My Queen.” Soft, green eyes looked at her with a strange sadness. _It is not pity,_ Elia knew, though the bastard of Hellholt surely boasted some for the queen. 

“I experienced the purity of an innocent love, once. It was enough,” Elia tried to comfort her companion by saying, so softly. 

“You of all, deserve more.” The Dornish queen did not know what to say to that. 

Once in her youth, she had dreamed of a life with Arthur Dayne. _We would flee to Lys, abandoning all duties and obligations._ He would no longer be a knight, and she would no longer be a princess. How they would make coin or live, the young Elia never planned. Though, the image she concocted had been beautiful. They would live humbly, but beautifully, and each morn, they’d wake in each other’s arms, feeling the sun on their skin and the breeze of the leaves on the swaying trees. Westeros was to become a mere memory for them. How young she had been, then, and Arthur as well. They most often indulged that ludicrous dream when they had been in each other’s arms. 

_“We’ll fuck and love and live,” Arthur whispered into her ear, his arm around her, both naked as their namedays, skin against skin-- whole._

“My Queen?” a voice called, bringing her back to shore, when she had been floating on the waters of forgotten dreams and lost childhoods. 

“Please, call me Elia,” the Dornishwoman replied with a smile, focusing on her brother’s lover’s face. Ellaria’s face was not the sort of beautiful that Westeros valued, or that songs were sung of, yet it was not a bad face and sure, she looked more enticing than gorgeous, but it was _her_ , that made her beautiful. 

“Your lips and eyes are painted,” Elia Martell noted and almost thought she saw the woman flush. “Do not mistake my meaning, I meant to compliment it. You look lovely.” 

“Thank you,” Ellaria replied, shyly. _The very opposite of my brother. Where he is loud, she is quiet, where he is obnoxious, she is shy._ “I could paint your face, if you’d like?” the woman asked and Elia smiled.

“It has been long, since I participated in such.” 

“We do not ha-”

“-I’d love to, there is a feast tonight, after all,” The Dornish Queen winked and Ellaria was off to get her utensils as Elia was dressed by her handmaidens. 

The handmaids were lacing the back of Elia’s gown when the bastard of Hellholt returned, clutching jars of different substances and brushes of different kinds. 

“You seem almost an alchemist,” she jested, earning a laugh and a reply from the paramour.

“Every queen needs their own,” she winked. The last sharp lace made Elia suck in a deep breath. _To be beautiful, all must suffer a little,_ Loreza Martell told her daughter once. The words appeared in that moment and she found herself missing her mother, who died a year after Elia wed Rhaegar. 

“You are dismissed,” she told her handmaids and moved to sit down by her vanity.

“But your hair, m’queen,” one of them stammered like a little mouse.

“Ellaria shall tend to it, will you not?” 

“Yes, your grace.” Duly, the maids left, as if they had never been. 

“What’s that?” she asked as the woman unfolded a jar of a dark substance, preparing to paint it on Elia with a brush.

“A mixture of coal and some other minor substances. It looks splendid on the eyes.” 

“Ah.” 

“Close your eyes,” Ellaria smiled and Elia did as she was bid. When the bastard of Hellholt was done, Elia tried to sneak a peak in the mirror.

“No peeking,” the bastard scolded the queen and Elia giggled.

“Alright then.” 

“Open your mouth slightly.” A creamy mixture touched her lips and felt queer, until it settled and the Dornish Queen was bid to close her mouth. After a few more strokes of Ellaria’s brush, and a little powder applied to her cheeks, Elia was good to go.

“Now, only my hair remains. I trust that you will find something to do with it.” Green eyes met brown and the queen noticed that they had been holed up in her quarters for almost half the day. _A knight of the Kingsguard will surely arrive to fetch me, soon. I hope it is Jaime and that he brought Rhaenys._ The little Aegon was still too young to be present for such rowdy things, so he was to remain in the nursery with Prince Aemon. 

In the end, the Dornish paramour allowed Elia’s soft hair to flow freely down her back, adorned with three braids, one at the crown of her head and one for each side. 

“I saw a depiction of a Valyrian princess with hair like that, once,” the woman confessed as her inspiration. 

“It must be lovely, then,” Elia replied, smiling tenderly at Ellaria Sand. She had not seen herself in the mirror yet and hoped that she looked somewhat beautiful. The gods know that I haven’t felt that for years. 

“Stand up,” Ellaria bid her and she did, the red Myrish lace of her gown, flowing easily with her movements. Suddenly, the woman gasped, and her green eyes turned dazed, almost. 

“What is it?” Elia asked, nervously, feeling her heart race in her chest. _This was a foolish child’s fancy, I am a woman not a girl, why should I dress up, they’ll think i’m ugly._ “Do I look that horrendous?” Insecurity gnawed on the queen.

“No, no,” Ellaria shook her head vigorously. “You look unworldly,” she breathed “… You look so very beautiful, My Queen.” 

When Elia Martell looked in the mirror that adorned her vanity, she did not recognise herself. A different woman met her reflection. Her gown showed a generous amount of cleavage, but not so much that it would be deemed inappropriate. Her hair glistened in the evening sun, like burnished copper. Her eyes were gracefully lined and smoked out with the black substance, which gave her a mysterious but intriguing aura and the lips were a bloody red. 

“You’re radiant.” Ellaria’s soft, accented voice reached her and Elia felt beautiful for the first time in so very long. 

Tears brimmed in her eyes but she forced herself to not weep.

“Thank you,” she whispered and suddenly slender arms were around her, holding her tenderly. They stayed like that for the longest of time, until a knock on Elia’s door brought them back to their realities. Suddenly, the night and prospect of the feast, did not feel so bleak.

“This is no time for tears, My Queen. You look a goddess and you should feel like one, as well. No girl nor woman will look half so lovely as you do tonight. You are the sun.” The Dornishwoman hugged her brother’s paramour tighter at that and only untangled herself from the embrace, when the knock was heard, again. 

Ellaria moved to open the door and it was Ser Arthur, Elia recognised the voice. 

“I am here to escort the queen to the feast.” 

“Mama,” she heard Rhaenys’s voice squeal, which made the Dornish queen walk toward the door, where she was met with the queer gazes of both Ser Jaime and Ser Arthur. 

“Sers,” Elia greeted politely and turned to her daughter, who was in her sworn shield’s arms. 

“Don’t you look beautiful tonight, my sweet?” Princess Rhaenys was dressed in a gown of lavender, the same shade as her eyes, and her hair was free and flowing, the same color as her mother’s. Her daughter smiled a toothy smile and reached a small hand out, to touch her mother’s cheek. 

“Mama is pretty,” the princess directed at her sworn shield. 

“She is. Very pretty.” His emerald eyes looked warm and friendly but there was something else swirling in them, something she could not quite discern.

“I could not look half as lovely as you do, my child,” Elia told her daughter, stroking her cheek and hair. 

She turned to Ser Arthur who was gazing at her queerly. His violet eyes were vivid and burning as they assessed her face, then she saw them briefly turn down toward her chest and it made her feel strangely shy and fidgety. 

“Shall we?” she asked and that seemed to snap the knight out of his daze. 

“Uh, yes, My Queen” he cleared his throat and she moved to his side. 

“Wait, you forgot,” Ellaria breathed, departing from Elia’s chambers with her crown.

“It will make it all complete.” The crown was placed on her head, and for the first time, Elia truly felt that she was a queen, and not only in name. After that, the Dornish paramour moved to Ser Arthur’s other side, glancing briefly at him, with a distaste that could be discerned by anyone. _Oberyn surely told her of Arthur’s betrayals._

***

Elia was seated next to Rhaegar on the high-table, with Oberyn next to her and Ellaria, next to him. Rhaegar tried making conversation with Elia, after his staring at her ceased but the Dornish Queen only gave him curt answers and turned to speak with her brother and his paramour, instead. Oberyn indulged her for the evening, for he saw that she had no wish to converse with her husband, or the other queen. 

The wolf-girl was dressed in an embroidered dress of blue silk. It looked pretty, making her pale skin seem paler, her hair darker and her grey eyes, more blue. Rhaegar wore a black doublet, with the Targaryen sigil on his chest, the sleeves embroidered with red threading. His silver hair boasted a few braids and his skin turned slightly flushed, the more he drank of the wine. Thankfully, both the Northern queen and her Targaryen husband did not bother Elia when she was busy conversing with her brother and the other ladies.

Rhaenys sat on Oberyn’s lap, giggling and smiling as her uncle jested and tickled her. 

“I thought dragons had claws,” her brother told Princess Rhaenys, who nodded, her wide eyes filled with mirth.

“Balerion has claws!” 

“He does, but you are not only a dragon, are you?” Oberyn asked her daughter. 

“Nope,” the girl said, popping the p. 

“No, no,” the Red Viper began loudly and dangerously, drawing the attention of both Rhaegar and Lyanna. “You are a dragon, aye, but you are also the sun.” Her brother ignored Elia’s vivid pleas, through her face, for him to not do something he would regret. Instead, the Dornish prince turned to the king and Northern queen with a strangely sinister smile, sickly-sweet in a dark way and spoke. 

“And even dragons and griffins and wolves alike; must bow before the sun.” An uneasy tension creeped in between the people present at the table, upon hearing that. 

“I think it is time for Rhaenys to sleep, do you not, Elia?” her husband asked with an air of indifference, and regular conversation resumed around the tables. 

“It is not so late,” The Dornish queen frowned. 

“She has her lessons tomorrow,” Rhaegar reminded his wife, with an edge to his words. _It seems Oberyn bit the dragon, but her refuses to let it show. Poison only grows stronger, however, especially if one lets it simmer._

“Alright then,” Elia said, begrudgingly. 

“Rhaenys, my sweet,” she told her daughter who was sitting in her uncle’s lap, calmly, with her head in the crook of his neck as he caressed her back, absentmindedly and she stroked the back of his neck. It was a beautiful sight, so tender and warm that it filled the Dornish queen with a deep, burning love.

“Mm,” the princess replied, dazedly.

“Are you tired, love?” The princess shook her head fervently. 

“No.” That made Rhaenys’s uncle laugh and hug her, giving her a kiss to the top of her head.

“It is time for you to sleep, sweet niece. We have tomorrow and all the days after that, as well.” Rhaenys fussed and whined a little, but Elia beckoned her brother to hand her the princess. Rhaenys settled and rested her head against her mother’s neck. 

“Melly will take you to sleep now, your father called for her.” The Dornish Queen turned to Rhaegar, who nodded. 

“No,” the princess complained weakly but Elia laughed and kissed her daughter’s cheek. 

“You’ve had enough of your uncle for one day.” The princess shook her head and Elia saw her brother smirk.

By the time Melly arrived, Princess Rhaenys was near sleeping in her mother’s safe embrace. 

“Say good eve to your father, my child,” Elia whispered, handing Rhaenys to a smiling Rhaegar. 

“Be good for your nursemaid, now, will you?” _Her name is Melly. Melly, Melly, Melly. Is it so hard to recall?_

“Mm,” the princess replied. The king kissed his daughter on the cheek and forehead, embracing her tightly, before handing her toward the nursemaid. There was no doubt in Elia’s mind that her husband loved his children, dearly. She would never rob him of them, not like he had almost (unknowingly) done to her. _Does it matter if it was by his will or not? It was still done and cannot be undone._

The people were getting more bawdy and unruly as time went on, many lords complimented Elia on her appearance, and some men simply shouted words that could barely be deciphered, in the throes of their drunken stupors. The attention emboldened her, yet it also made her feel strange. She was used to not being given much notice but as soon as she paints her eyes and lips, she is suddenly the subject of attention. It unnerved her in a way, but she knew what beauty could do to people. _This world does not belong to everyone, it belongs to those who wield power, and those who are young and beautiful._

Ellaria and Oberyn seemed lost in each other’s touches and Elia did not wish to disturb them or cling to her brother, like a babe at its mother’s skirts. _I am a queen, she thought. I must be strong, for the gods only know what will happen, when i’m not._ King’s Landing would surely have ravaged her like a pack of deadly wolves, she was certain. She saw Ser Arthur standing in the back, as she analyzed her surroundings. Their eyes met and it was so strange, he looked so sad and uncertain, almost broken. He hid it well, behind his stoic masks, but Elia had known him since she was a child. The Dornish queen could see through the cracks and his facades, like a breeze in the air. 

“Elia,” she felt a voice say, lips barely touching the base of her ear. The Dornish queen turned around and was met by her husband, his indigo eyes shining bright in the light of the eve. 

“Yes?” she asked.

“My mother wrote to me, I meant to tell you, earlier.” _Oh_ , she frowned. _I hope Rhaella is well._ “She will be returning to King’s Landing from Dragonstone, with Viserys.” _Viserys,_ Elia thought fondly. She had dearly missed the clever little boy and his mother. 

“When?” Elia breathed, desperate to know. Rhaegar smiled a little. 

“Soon, within the week if the gods are good and the sea is not too rough.” _When are the gods ever good?_ The Dornishwoman found herself pondering. 

“Those are joyous tidings, husband,” she replied and found a genuine smile taking over her face. Rhaella had been friends with her mother, and taken on a sort of parental role to Elia, as well. The Dowager queen never deserved all the things she had to suffer. _She was good and kind to me, more than her crazed fool of a husband ever was._ Rhaegar looked at her strangely. 

“Yes, they are.” 

***

Elia was undoing the braids that Ellaria fashioned her and rejoicing in the quiet solitude that being alone sometimes gave her. There was a fire burning in the hearth, giving off a radiant heat that warmed her body. _This day has not been so hard,_ she found herself thinking. It was the first time that she had felt so genuinely… like a queen. And for the first time since her days with Arthur in Dorne, she’d felt beautiful and desired. Of course Rhaegar had shown that he desired her but it was never in that unconditional sort of way. Never truly in the way she’d craved. His desire was comfortable, it stemmed from her being his wife, not a woman he’d been wildly in love with. She doubted that her husband would ever feel that sort of way, _I do not think he has it in him to. Let the singers sing of how Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna._

_The truth is never half so romantic._

Elia was just to wash her face clear of the paint, with the rosewater in the marble basin, when she heard the door to her chambers open. Frowning, she moved to find out who this person was, visiting in the late hours of the night. Her feet padded softly from her washing room, through the hall and into the sitting room. 

“Rhaegar,” she tried to stifle her surprise at his visit. “I would’ve thought you’d be sound asleep with the young wolf-girl in your arms, by now.” 

“Elia,” he said with dark, indigo eyes fixed on her. She was suddenly aware that she was dressed in a flimsy, orange shift made out of satin and that made her feel too exposed, even in front of her husband. Her hair was flowing freely down her shoulders and back in ringlets, whilst her face remained painted, although the black around the eyes had smudged slightly. It gave her a haughty look, as if she was a dark seductress that would lure you into her den, shrouded with mystery and intrigue. 

“Is there a reason for your… late visit?” she asked, nervously touching her arms. She wanted to go fetch one of her robes but this did not feel like the time to do such things. The light made his silvery hair glisten and one could not deny his beauty. Not even Elia. _How is it that he can look so handsome, even when disheveled? Even after several cups of wine. It is not fair, not to anyone._ Least of all, Queen Elia.

“Yes,” he said, walking toward her in long strides. 

She looked down when he reached her, for reasons unbeknownst to her. Then, warm fingers touched the bottom of her chin and turned her face upward, to meet his burning gaze. Her husband still did not speak. A slender finger stroked down her cheek to her neck and onto her collarbone. Queen Elia peered at him through dark lashes, confusion clouding her features. _He is acting strange._

“You looked beautiful today,” he whispered and she furrowed her brows. 

“Thank you, My King.” 

“But…” he began and seemed on edge. “You are a queen and those are supposed to be graceful creatures,” he breathed. _Do I not behave gracefully?_ The statement confuzzled her.

“I do not take your meaning.” He was making her wary. 

“You are the wife of a king, not a harlot, Elia. You should not paint yourself and dress in such a way that only makes you the subject of attraction and lust.” _What?_ She slapped his hand off of her body as if scalded. Tears brimmed in her eyes. The queen had felt so beautiful but now it all felt the most horrible of mummer’s farces. 

“What?” she asked sharply. “Are you saying that I am a whore because I took care of my appearance, once? That it is my fault that you men only think with your cocks?” she spit out, feeling a heavy weight of defeat loom over her, as if a dark, rainy cloud. 

“There is no need to grow upset, Elia,” Rhaegar pleaded. “I am only telling you.”

“What? Do you think yourself merciful, that you are a king who asks first, before he commands? Go fuck yourself, Rhaegar!” The Dornishwoman felt fiercely angry but so horribly sad at the same time. _I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me weep like a newborn babe in arms._

“Stop it,” he told her when she tried to push him away. Instead, he moved to embrace her, putting his strong arms around her and keeping them there, no matter how much she squirmed like a weasel in his grasp, trying to get away. He felt constricting and she wanted him to leave. 

_Why do I think it’ll last, every time I feel good?_

“Shh,” he stroked the back of her hair and spoke with his lips against her ear. “I am not saying that you did not look enticing, because gods, you did. But you are a queen, not a seductress. I will not have filthy lords fucking their wives, whores or themselves, with you on their mind.” 

“Do not act so fucking chivalrous, Rhaegar,” she spit. “Do you not think every girl old enough to feel desire, wets their smallclothes at the thought of you, or every lady and every widow? Oh, the handsome dragon-king, oh, the beautiful Rhaegar, oh, fuck me please, your grace-- spare me the false concern.” His grip on her tightened. 

“I do not ask for it,” he told her sharply. 

“Do you think I do?” she countered, still trying to wriggle out of his arms, seeing if he would budge. 

“What was your meaning of dressing and painting your face like that, if it was not to gain attention?” _Because I felt beautiful,_ she wanted to scream. _Because for once, I did not feel like a waste of space or a ghost in these cursed halls. I felt alive._ It would do no good to tell him that, she knew. 

“Every man’s eyes were on you, even my Kingsguard could barely stray.” Her husband sounded vexed, which only further fueled her anger.

“Perhaps they admired my jewelry,” she grumbled harshly. 

“I will not play games with you, Elia.”

“So what if they were? You once told me that a queen belongs to the realm.” She was tired and weary and wanted him to cease this incessant plathering, that would lead nowhere in the end. Leave me be, she thought. I just want to be alone. 

“First, she belongs to the king and you are mine. Not any of those drunken lords’ or fat merchants’.” His voice was like pure granite. Queen Elia Martell almost wished to laugh.

“How can I be yours, if you were never mine?”

“I am yours.” 

“And the wolf-girl’s, and the court’s, and the realm’s,” she continued spitefully.

“I am a king.” 

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know,” she grumbled harshly and tried to push him away but each time she tried, he only held her harder. 

“I love you, but I will not have you undermine me by going against my commands.”

“So now it is a command?” Rhaegar ignored her. 

“I would love to see you in such attire, but only for my eyes. Never would I hinder that, but in public, my reputation rests upon yours. People will doubt and call me a feeble king, if I cannot control my wayward wife.” _Wayward? I have been nothing but dutiful to you, she thought as she felt a tear escape her eyes. It is your damned other wife who is wayward and willful, the one who refused to do her duty._

“You want me to be the king’s little whore?” she asked bitterly, a sneer clouding her features. “For you it is alright, then? The king wishes me to look beautiful as I take his cock like a dutiful whore, right?” _Men,_ she thought in disgust.

“Do not twist my words, Elia!” her husband said, frustration lacing every word. “You know that is not how I meant it.” Her breathing quickened and she wanted to be free of him, and quickly. _Get away, get away, get away!_

“I do not know how you mean anything, anymore, Rhaegar,” she spit out venomously. “You are not capable of loving a woman and all you do is disappoint and ruin, now LEAVE!” she raged, wrenching free and pushing him away as bitter tears escaped her eyes. _Stop weeping, you stupid little girl, you are a woman. Harden your heart, do not let them see you hurt._ Elia wanted to, but it was so very hard.

The heart was never meant to be hardened. It was meant to love. 

“Leave!” she screamed, not caring if anyone heard, flinging the closest thing she could find at him, which was a book. “LEAVE!” she repeated brokenly. Her husband looked torn between wanting to comfort and stop her from potentially killing him, and simply doing as she bid, for the queen seemed very unreliable at that moment. Angry, sorrowful tears streamed down her face, leaving gray imprints from the paint. 

“You fucking hypocrite, I told you to GET OUT!” she flung a pillow at him, this time, he dodged it with his hands, but the heavy book had done a number on his wrist.

In the end, he did get out. 

Elia followed the silver-haired man to the door, wanting to slam it in his face. When the door opened, Ser Arthur looked at her briefly, and then turned his gaze downward. Was it because of shame? Elia would never know.

“Arthur,” Rhaegar sighed and kept on walking, away from his wife’s chambers, away from her. The knight followed, dutifully. Ser Jaime remained on the other side of the door, with a heaviness in his emerald eyes. 

Defeated, Elia moved to close the door, but at the last instance, a hand stopped it. She looked at Ser Jaime haughtily. In that moment, one would’ve described Queen Elia as tragically beautiful, with that dark paint streaming down her cheek and the smudged red around her lips. 

“I thought you looked beautiful today, every inch a queen,” he said with a burning sincerity. “For whatever it’s worth,” the knight added, after Elia looked at him for a few moments, in a stunned silence. 

“Thank you, Jaime,” the Dornish Queen replied softly, trying to smile but she feared it did not come out as such. 

The knight nodded and she closed the door. When she’d done that, she leaned back against the cool wood and slowly fell apart, into a sobbing heap on the floor. 

She wept herself to sleep that night, but then again,

Doesn’t everyone?

***

“What did he do to you?” Oberyn asked the next day with danger in his viper’s eyes. 

“Nothing worth mentioning, considering the severity of some of his actions,” Elia replied, desperately wanting to forget the previous eve and her husband’s crude words. They were in the great hall, breaking fast together. It was early and the sun had only just risen, so it was only Lyro, Oberyn, Ellaria and Elia present. 

“Severe enough to make you cry,” Oberyn mumbled quietly, eyeing her with a strange intensity. _Oh, no,_ she thought. _Is it so obvious?_ Her brother seemed to sense her conflict and placed his hand atop hers on the table. 

“I am your brother, I see what these fat lords and lickspittles do not. There is sadness in your eyes, the kind you try so desperately to hide.”

“It comes with queenship.” 

“No, it comes with the dragons.” “Pretentious cunts,” he continued and Elia giggled a little but looked around warily, after.

“You must not say such things…” “Openly,” she whispered. “Promise me.” 

“Only for you, my sister,” he drawled. “The gods know that he deserves more than words.” The Dornish queen rose an eyebrow.

Elia turned to look at Ellaria and Lyro, who were immersed in a deep conversation, stopping only after they noticed her eyes on them. 

“My Queen,” they both said in courtesy and she laughed. “You may call me Elia, I told you.”

“Elia it is, then,” Lyro said, his musical accent tickling the words. The flaxen hair gracing his head was short, but not cropped, by any means. His jaw was sharp, and he boasted the aquiline nose of the Valyrians, with full, pink lips and pale, blue eyes. _A true Lyseni beauty,_ she thought, _and far comelier than half of the men in this court._ Yet Lyro also boasted a charming nature, and jested well and often, with wry, dry humor to accompany it. The queen had grown quite endeared toward him, during the little time they’d spent with each other. Yet his origins remained vague and unbeknown to her. 

“Lyro, you originate from Lys, do you not? I always wanted to go there.” 

“I do,” the man smiled. “It is a lovely land, to be sure, filled with all the pleasures that life has to offer, if one has the coin to pay for it.” 

“I hear it is a tropical paradise,” she mused and he nodded. 

“I would be glad to take you there sometime, My Queen,” the man said and somehow, she knew that he was sincere. 

“There would be no finer guide for me,” the Dornishwoman smiled and he returned it, pale blue eyes, glowing like icy stars. 

“How about we have the children join us for a day in the courtyard? The sun is out and it would do Rhaenys well to be a girl again, playing in the mud.”

“We would play in the Water Gardens,” her brother said quietly and Elia nodded.

“One day, she will as well. For now, I cannot wait until Prince Viserys joins us, he will make a good companion to her.” 

“More Targaryens.” 

“My children are Targaryens, as well,” she told her brother. 

“Good ones,” he agreed. 

“Viserys and Rhaella are, as well.” _Even Rhaegar is. There is no evil in his heart, only mystery, shrouded by the fog of prophecies. He learned his lesson, I hope._ Even though she was still fiercely wroth with her husband, hate never came easy to a woman as gentle of heart as the Dornish queen was. 

***

She managed to avoid Rhaegar for the entire day, as he was busy with trying to mend the weeping sores of the realm. _The ones he fashioned, himself and the ones left behind by his mad father_ . Oberyn was a delight with Rhaenys, running around with the princess and indulging her whims until she was content. _He spoils her too much,_ the queen had thought with a fond smile. _But isn’t that what uncles should do, especially those that do not meet their kin often._

Ellaria told the queen of her experience in Lys, until she moved to join Oberyn and Rhaenys. Elia had remained, with the princeling in her knee, who was in great spirits, giggling and smiling for all to see. Ser Jaime stood nearby, guarding them and the precious princess. Lyro sat next to her, watching the scenery in front of them avidly. Sometimes he would look at her son with a softness in his pale eyes, stroke Prince Aegon’s cheeks or make a mock of himself, for the giggles of the young babe. Elia asked him if he ever thought of having children and a sadness had descended upon him, then. 

_“Men like me do not father children.”_

The Queen had thought it prudent to change the matter of discussion then, and the Lyseni had gladly indulged her. The man spoke of poetry, songs and the arts. 

_“You must sing or recite poetry for me, some time,” she told him, in awe. The man blushed a little._

_“I do not enjoy doing so in front of crowds, My Queen,” Lyro mumbled, casting his eyes downward in shyness._

_“Then you can do so in my chambers, away from prying eyes and ears.”_

_"Gladly,” he replied, eyes shining bright in the light of the yellow sun._

_“How does this eve sound? After we’ve had supper and I bring the children back to their nursery.”_

_“If I should be able to escape your brother,” the Lyseni smirked. “It won’t be hard. He loves her.” Elia turned to gaze upon her brother, playing with Rhaenys alongside his paramour in the yards, mirroring the soft look on Lyro’s face._

_“He does.” But the unspoken question was; do you?_

She did not sup with Rhaegar and Lyanna, but instead with her children, brother, Lyro and Ellaria, in her chambers. The meal was a simple stew of mutton, alongside steamed vegetables and fried bread. Pleasant conversation was made whilst they supped, but the excursion in the courtyard had left them all feeling pleasantly dazed and a wave of calm washed upon each of them. 

“Shall we return to your nursery, my sweets?” Elia asked her children when all were finished supping, but only Rhaenys deigned herself to reply, for Aegon was still too young to understand such intricacies. 

“Is Melly there?” The Dornish queen smiled. 

“No, sweetling. She is with her own children but the other nursemaids will see you to bed.”

“I hope it’s Lysa,” the princess muttered under her breath, making Oberyn bark out a laughter. 

“This one knows what she wants. Dorne runs in her blood.” 

“It does,” Elia allowed and offered her son for Ellaria, Lyro and Oberyn to kiss goodnight. 

“Rhaenys, bid your uncle, Ellaria and Lyro a good eve.” The girl ran into her uncle’s arms, delighting as he spun her around a few times and then kissed the top of her head. The paramour bent down to embrace the little princess and kissed her cheek. When it came to Lyro, the Lyseni looked as if he did not know what to do. 

“Goo-” he began but was interrupted by young Rhaenys’s demanding little arms. She outreached them, wishing to be picked up. He indulged her and the princess wrapped her arms around the tall man’s neck and whispered a “Goodnight, Lyro.” In which Elia noticed how his pale eyes seemed to be brimming with tears. Unknowingly, she walked toward the Lyseni and put a comforting arm on his shoulder, he looked at her with a gentle smile. 

Then, she departed her chambers, to the nursery alongside Ser Jaime. 

“How are you faring, Ser?” Elia asked, trying to make pleasant conversation. He turned, peering at her through dark lashes that clashed with his golden hair. 

“Well, My Queen.” 

“I hope no one is giving you any grief, you must needs tell me if they do, and I shall put a stop to it.” He smiled emptily, then.

“I thank you, but none of your words can erase the thoughts of men. I’d rather face harsh comments, than for them to tell me i’m hiding behind the queen’s skirts. Rumors would follow you, as well, nasty stories, no doubt.” 

“I’d never do that to you,” he continued softly.

“You are more considerate than mine own husband, then,” she mumbled and saw the knight looking at her sadly. They remained quiet for the rest of the walk to the nursery, Elia nodding at the Lannister knight before entering. The chamber was dimly lit and Elia could spot a shape by Prince Aemon's crib, and a mane of flowing, dark hair. 

_Lyanna,_ she thought. In the time that the wolf-girl spent in the capital, they’d never encountered each other in the nursery. _Perhaps she has been too frightened to visit,_ the Dornishwoman pondered. Or perhaps she preferred the babe sleeping with her, as the Prince Aemon was missing from his crib, on the occasional day and night. An unsettling thought brewed within Elia, then. _Mayhaps she thought I would poison him or such. What woman would do that to an innocent babe?_ It would have made the Dornishwoman’s rage a sight to behold, if that had indeed been the case, for she despised the way King’s Landing and the south treated the Dornishmen with prejudice. 

“Shall we head for your bath, princess?” one of the nursemaids asked. Realisation struck the queen. A _h, yes, of course she will bathe, she did play in the mud and grassy plains of the courtyard earlier._

“Follow your nursemaid, and Ser Jaime will accompany you on the way.” Elia gently untangled her daughter from her skirts and pushed her toward Ser Jaime, all the while being aware of the wolf-girl’s eyes on her. 

“I will see you in the morn, my love,” she called to her daughter, before the left the nursery. Now there was only Lyanna, Aemon, Aegon and Elia left in the room. The guards remained posted outside. 

Mutely, the Dornish queen walked to her son’s cot and placed a sleepy Prince Aegon in it. He fussed a little when being lowered, for he’d almost fallen asleep in his mother’s arms, but a soothing stroke to his head and cheek from Elia, and he quieted down, only gazing at her with those big, purple eyes. 

“You are growing too fast,” she chided her son with a smile. “Soon enough you will be a man grown, and I, a crone.” the princeling made no reply to that, he only closed his eyes contently. 

Bending down into the cot, she kissed the top of her son’s head, stroking a few silver curls with her index finger. 

“I love you.” Then, she stood up and turned to the other queen.

Lyanna was rocking her son, in arms that looked frail. Elia knew that she, herself had been sickly most of her life and been bestowed an emaciated, frail look because of it, but motherhood had placed more meat on her bones, giving her a healthier look. From what she knew, the wolf-girl had never been a sickly babe, nor born early. _What brought upon this gaunt look, then?_

“Your son is beautiful,” the Northern girl breathed, suddenly. Perhaps the thick silence was too much to take. The Dornishwoman rose an eyebrow. _Have you not gazed upon our husband?_

“He is blessed with the dragon’s blood and his father’s beauty and colors.” 

“He has you in him, as well,” the girl said, with grey eyes that looked too large for her face. A heaviness settled in Elia’s chest as she looked upon Lyanna Stark. _She is still a child, no matter how much you try to make her into a woman. The glow of youth still glares upon her and it is no mercy. No mercy at all, when one lives in this viper’s nest._

“Rhaenys takes after me, more.” 

“She will grow into one of the comeliest ladies in the realm. Songs will be sung of her beauty and those eyes.” The wolf-girl sounded as if something was gnawing on her, the words felt like pleas. _What is she searching for, here? Forgiveness? Absolvement? For me to tell her that I do not hate her?_

“Beauty is not everything. My daughter is as sharp-witted as her parents, willful and demanding like her uncle. She will not be a dull woman, only good for clinging to her husband’s arm. My son and daughter will rule together like Alysanne and Jaehaerys. I know it.” 

“I wish that for them. Love and prosperity.” 

“Do you?” Elia asked, sharply. “Do you, truly?” The girl nodded, swaying gently with her son in her arms.

“Then why did you almost bring upon their deaths?” Lyanna simply stared at her with a haunted look in her eyes. 

“What?” she asked weakly. 

“Surely my husband told you and you heard me curse him for it, not long ago.” 

“I’d never… if i’d known that,” she stammered. 

“Are you really this naive? What did you expect would happen, pray tell? That you and Rhaegar would live happily ever after, that all would be merry and well because he was crown-prince and heir to the throne, that his honeyed words and lips between your thighs would solve everything?” She asked, fervently. “That is a child’s dream, and we are no children.” Elia’s voice was hard as granite. “Not any longer, we cannot afford to be, _you_ cannot afford to be,” Elia continued.

“I love him,” the wolf-girl stammered, cold tears sliding down her cheeks. 

“You loved the idea of him, a childish infatuation is what it was. The handsome dragon prince, wanting you. It must have been lovely, being crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty, to feel the softness of his lips and his tender declarations of love and prophecies. Alas, it does not last and the ugliness of reality shows its head. In this case, it was too late.” 

“I will never forgive myself for what happened here, what I caused, your pain and…” She could not say it, the words were too horrible for her Northern tongue. 

“The inevitable death of my children. The ones you see smile so sweetly in the halls. Rhaenys’s pure laugher, Aegon’s charming giggles, their utter lust for life and living. It must be hard to look upon them, knowing that you unwillingly almost put them in their graves. Little children who’d barely lived.”

“And you,” the girl wept. “And you,” she repeated in a whisper. 

“My life matters not. I would have gladly died for my children. I am the mother of dragons and you almost robbed me of them, you and their father. I do not absolve you of any guilt on the account that you were half-a-child. Younger girls than you have showed far more wisdom. You knew what you were doing, yet you turned a blind eye to it.” 

“I never imagined it would-” the girl began but Elia stopped her. 

“Do you imagine that you would be the first woman forced to wed a man she did not love or want? A man who drinks and whores?” 

“I-”

“-Do you? What made you think that you were so special, that you did not deserve that bland and bitter fate? From what I hear, you would’ve had a comfortable life. The man loved you, he rose in rebellion when he thought my husband stole you away, like some wildling savage.” 

The girl who was barely a woman lowered her gaze. 

“Robert loved my face but not what laid beneath. He would never have changed his nature.” 

“Do you think Rhaegar loved you blindly?” Elia scoffed and saw as tears spilled down Lyanna’s cheeks. “He might have enjoyed your willful nature and wild beauty but Rhaegar is not a man who can truly love. You’ve noticed, haven’t you?” Elia enquired. “Was he not disappointed when he found out your son was not a Visenya, but an Aemon?” The girl let out a broken sob, then. _Oh, how you spoiled things for yourself, girl._

“Give him to me,” the Dornishwoman told the young woman, when her shaking grew more severe and began to interrupt the sleeping babe in her arms. Lyanna Stark did not argue, but handed her son over to the woman she called her sister-wife. A small bundle, he was, with tiny, pale limbs and chubby cheeks. _He looks a little like Aegon, now that I think of it._ Gently, Elia began to sway, shushing the fussing babe in her arms. 

“My words are the truth, girl. I will not tell you sweet lies, the death of your brother and father laid on your hands, and Rhaegar’s for staring this mummer’s farce. My death and that of my children’s, would have been on your hands, as well. You are young, yes, but not any longer and even so, the world does not spare the young. Think of all the husbands who did not return home, all the poor boys forced to fight in a war they had no part in. You sent them to their deaths, you and my husband.” 

“I’m sorry,” the girl repeated brokenly, slowly descending into a heap on the floor.

“Do not tell me, tell their ghosts,” Elia began. _I do not wish to tear her to shreds but she has not truly learned the severity of her actions. It is time she did._ “Tell the innocent, young men, forcefully sent out to war. To die and bleed and be forgotten, beneath the earth and dirt, they lay rotten.” 

“Get up,” the Dornishwoman told Lyanna. “Get up,” she repeated, softer this time and offered an arm to help, which Lyanna accepted. _Her hand is cold, so very cold._

“We could have avoided all of this tragedy if you and my husband had not been so foolish, if he and you had not been so rash.” Grey eyes found her gaze and the Dornishwoman realised that the Northerner had not let go of her hand, but was grasping it fiercely, as if an anchor. 

“Wake up, girl. Robert would have been a better husband to you than an old man who stank of sour wine and raised his hand to you. He was handsome and young, and he loved you.” Elia did not say the words unkindly, but almost soothingly. 

Suddenly she found the girl had wrapped her slim arms around her, weeping into the crook of Elia’s neck. 

“I don’t think he loves me any longer and… we caused all this pain and for what? I’m sorry, so sorry, you have no idea,” she sobbed and sounded her age. 

“That my husband is incapable of fully loving is not your fault, but the blood of this war rests upon both his and your hands. It is done and cannot be undone. You must needs live with it, as I did.” Feeling uncomfortable with the girl weeping in her neck, and the babe in her arms, Elia gently scooted the girl away. 

“Make your peace with it, or forever feel the pain.” Lyanna’s tear-stained face met her calm and composed one. 

“He is a beautiful child, girl or not. If our husband dares say otherwise, I will accompany you in gelding him.” That statement almost garnered a smile from the wolf-girl. 

“Can you forgive me?” she whispered. 

“No,” Elia replied, handing Aemon back to her. 

“Not ever?” the Northern queen asked, her tone so full of hopelessness and sadness. 

“I do not know the future. All I know is today.” 

“I do not deserve your forgiveness.” 

“That does not stop you from seeking it, now does it?” Lyanna shook her head. 

“I bear you no ill-will, or your son.” the chatter of her daughter filled Queen Elia’s ears and she wondered how much time had passed inside the nursery. 

“I know,” the girl whispered, returning Aemon to his cot. “He seems fond of you.” 

“He is not so bad himself,” the Dornishwoman smiled. 

“I deserve your brother’s ire, I do. But please know that I would never plot or scheme to put my son on the throne. It is Aegon’s, I would never interfere with such.” 

“Good,” was all Queen Elia said. Rhaegar already assured her, but as she knew, sometimes all the king’s words were, was wind. _I would have killed you myself, if otherwise,_ Elia left unsaid. 

***

Ser Arthur announced Lyro’s presence at the door and Elia moved to open it, bidding Lyro to sit down wherever he pleased. She moved to close it but Ser Arthur’s large hands stopped her. 

“Is there something you need, Ser?” Elia asked, frowning softly. 

“I do not know if the king would be pleased that you had a male visitor so late in the evening. It may cause suspicion to arise.” 

“Let it rise, Ser Arthur,” she said. “My husband has displeased me plenty of times and Lyro is my brother’s, I am not the sort to take the scraps of my kin,” Elia continued, staring into the Dayne’s violet eyes. 

“I am sorry for what he said, you did not deserve it. You looked like a goddess,” the knight whispered, looking around before he placed his hand atop hers on the edge of the door. It made the queen sigh and her heart ache. Arthur belonged to her past, Rhaegar to her present. _However it seems time stands still, when it comes to the heart._ Elia barely knew her own, anymore. It was so strange, she felt it yearn for Arthur but perhaps what he was and not what he is. It was cruel, to feel like this. _We are done, a closed chapter of a dusty volume that none will read. Yet it does not make what could never be, hurt any less._

“We are all sorry, Arthur,” Elia said so sadly and allowed her the comfort of his hand for one second longer, until she took it away and closed the door, willing herself to forget how is eyes were the very personification of grief and guilt. 

“Lyro,” Elia said, donning a false smile that she was sure he of all, could see beyond. “What will you sing for me?” His pale eyes lit up. 

“Whatever you wish, your grace.” 

So it was that Lyro, the unofficial paramour of Prince Oberyn sang a great deal of songs, and recited his fair share of poetry to Queen Elia. The Dornishwoman marvelled in it all, the soft, baritone notes and light tilt to his words. Time seemed to stand still as he sat there, singing and reciting ancient passages, not knowing how much the distraction truly meant to the queen. Or how much it reminded her of the early days in her marriage to Rhaegar Targaryen. On Dragonstone, _when things were not at all so bad._

After he was done singing and speaking, he told Elia of how the Lyseni women would perfume their hair and braid it so intricately that it seemed almost art. She asked him if he had mastered the skill and he smiled shyly and told her that he could do it, but not as greatly as some. The Dornishwoman asked him to try, on her, fetching a brush and some perfumed oils. Together, she sat with the Lyseni as he braided her hair and they spoke of several matters. 

“Were you a nobleman, in Lys?” Smooth fingers ran through her hair, deciding on which sections to use and leave. 

“No,” the man replied, quietly. “I was the son of a whore, born for one purpose only.” 

“What?” Elia asked, confused. 

“To be a whore.” She wanted to turn to him, to look into his eyes, to see if they told of that sorrowful tale. 

“I’m sorry,” she said instead. His hand squeezed her shoulder. 

“It is quite alright.” Then things remained quiet for sometime, until he spoke again. 

“In Lys, they believe in mating beauty with beauty, to create even more beauty,” he explained. “Such children were to be trained in the arts of pleasure, sent to work in the pillow houses when they were of an age… or before,” the man said and she could feel his shudder. 

“I was one of those children. I barely knew my mother, all I can recall is a woman with golden hair, singing to me. Sentiment is weakness, they said, so as soon as I was weaned, I was ripped off of my mother’s chest and never saw her again.” 

His hand continued braiding her hair and she found herself honored that he shared that tale with her, however sad it may be. _It is a part of him and I am thankful that he found me worthy enough to be made aware of it._

“Does Oberyn and Ellaria know?” 

“They found me in the pillow house where I was assigned. Yet they do not know all of my story, and I wish for it to remain like that. Not everyone has a sad story behind them, and even if they do, it is no excuse. I refuse for it to be.”

“I find that admirable, Lyro. I do,” she told him sincerely. 

“I decided to join your brother and Ellaria when he offered. Lys is beautiful, but only for those who can afford for it to be. I was a whore but I wished to be more. “

“I am glad you came,” Elia said warmly, putting a hand on his knee. 

“Me too.” The Lyseni was almost done braiding her hair, only continuing for a little while, until wrapping it with a ribbon. 

“All done,” he smiled and Elia looked at herself in the mirror. 

“It looks wonderful,” she said in awe. There were several braids along the crown of her head, joining into one, with strands falling loose at the sides, like little waterfalls. 

“I am glad it is to your taste,” the man replied shyly. The Dornishwoman turned to Lyro with an infectious smile, wrapping her arms around him, in a fierce embrace. 

He hugged her back, so tightly that it felt as if they were finding comfort in each other, after so long of being broken. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled into the top of his chest and his response was to kiss the top of her head. They remained like that for an unknown amount of time. He smelled of lavender, grassy plains and something she could not quite name. It calmed her, like Oberyn would. 

Elia was the first to speak. 

“Is that why you said that men like you cannot have children?” The statement had saddened her. _If he wishes to know the joy of a child, then naught should stop him._

“No child wants a whore for a father. The things that were done to me… I would be scared to fail them,” he relied. 

“There are no easy roads when it comes to parenting a child, but love, respect and kindness goes a long way. From what i’ve seen of you and the way you are with my children, you will be a great father, someday, Lyro. Do not doubt it.” She raised her head and saw tears brimming in his pale eyes. One fell and she wiped it away, tenderly. 

“For now, I shall enjoy my time with your brother and Ellaria. Who knows where the roads will lead, after that.” 

“Oberyn will make sure that you will be alright, I promise. And if he doesn’t, then I will pull him by the ear and make sure of it, myself.” 

“I love them and it frightens me,” Lyro whispered.

“That is how you know it is real.” 

***

The week passed in a blur. Elia was busy spending time with her brother and her children, tending to court and holding it, that she completely forgot about Dowager Queen Rhaella and Viserys’s impending arrivals. She was busy speaking with Oberyn in his chambers, when Rhaegar’s summon came. 

“Another Targaryen?” Oberyn asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Two,” Elia said nonchalantly. “Two beloved ones and a third on the way.” Then she followed Ser Jonothor to the King’s quarters. 

“Elia,” Rhaegar greeted her when she arrived and she returned it with a cold gaze, his words from the previous week, still not forgotten.

“Lyanna,” Elia said, instead and earned a hopeful smile from the Northerner. Rhaegar looked at them both with a perplexed expression, which meant that Lyanna had not confided the words spoken in the nursery, the week before, to him. Somehow, that impressed the Dornishwoman. 

After a certain time, and strained silence, whilst staring at the flames, the door was finally opened, with Ser Willem announcing the Dowager Queen’s arrival. 

“Viserys can remain outside for a few moments,” Rhaella told the knight and he nodded. She was dressed in a black travelling cloak, wet from the rain of the night, yet her purple eyes warmed Elia when they looked to her. 

Queen Rhaella shrugged her cloak off, discarding it to one of the armchairs, and it was then that she saw her good-mother’s swollen belly. Long, silver-gold hair trailed to the midst of her back and the former queen’s face remained beautiful, albeit haunted. Elia wondered if hers mirrored it. _War is easy upon no one._

“My sweet Elia,” the Dowager Queen said, walking to her good-daughter and embracing her. The smell of rain and faint flowers made Elia feel half a girl and safe again, as if nothing could harm her. “I missed you dearly, and the children,” the silver-haired beauty continued. 

Soon, they departed from the hug and her good-mother turned to Lyanna with a strange look. It was neither cold nor warm, but simply apprehensive and full of mistrust. Nonchalantly, the woman turned away from the Northerner and began taking even, measured steps toward her son. Rhaegar smiled at his mother but Rhaella kept walking until she was inches away from him. Perplexion struck Elia, but not as hard as it would strike Rhaegar. 

Rhaella looked at her son for a few moments, before she closed her eyes, took a loud deep breath, her hands outstretched, daring her son to speak. Then, after exhaling loudly, she slapped him with an intense fervor, the crack echoing across the silent chamber. Lyanna gasped and It felt so absurd that Elia felt the urge to laugh. _King he may be, but here he is, a man grown, getting chastised by his mother, in front of his two wives._

“Did having Aerys for a father teach you nothing?” Dowager Queen Rhaella told her son, after he turned to her with a confused expression, clutching his ever-reddening cheek. The Dornishwoman could not really sympathize with her husband in that moment. 

“Do you wish to have some tea, good-mother?” Elia asked nonchalantly. “I hear it is good for those with child.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the reason why Lyanna is behaving very subdued in a way, is because she most likely suffers from post-partum depression, she's young and it's hard having a baby at that age and seeing disappointment in the father's eyes and having it woven together by almost dying during the giving birth of said child. (And the reason why it's not touched on more and in further detail is because this is an Elia-centric story, which stems from her side of things, and POV's are biased.)
> 
> I also explained why she wasn't angry or willful in the last chapter (in the comments) because some of you didn't think it sounded right to character for her to just let Oberyn's comment slide. 
> 
> I'm trying to write this to be as raw and real as possible and y'know, I stand by it.


	7. Call it what you want.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love both of my wives,” The King said, so fiercely that Elia almost believed him.  
> “I never said you didn’t. However, you loved your prophecies more.” The Dowager Queen’s words were gloomy and only proved to be gloomier as she continued. “Let us not jest, my son. I do not doubt that there is love in your heart for each of these women, but no one will ever have all of you, even if they give you every single piece of themselves, until they are torn and bleeding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back with another chapter, after only three days! Idk I felt the inspiration surge and somehow this is even longer than the last one.
> 
> Perhaps i'm trying to crank them out because I start school in two weeks and updates may prove to become a little sparse, as they say second year fucks you harder than time. (I think it's called junior year in high-school for those of you in the states), and just wanted to notify y'all of it, in case I may ghost for a few weeks on end. This break has passed surprisingly fast and strangely, I do not feel the urge to go back to hell just yet. Alright i'm being dramatic, let's continue. 
> 
> This story to me, above all, is about the complexity of the human heart and the rawness of reality. I want to write it as realistically as possible because I do not feel like there's much of that when it comes to these pairings and such. I wanted to bring Elia to life, to show her in a light which we rarely see. It's about healing, in a way and how to deal with things. I wanted her to be a centerpiece, not just the shadow or backdrop for her companions, or a means to will the story forward.
> 
> This chapter delves even further into that sort of complexity, it nurtures relationships and offers further insight into te thoughts of others. I hope you like it but lowkey i'm really scared this entire story is trash and that this update is shit and that inevitably i'll ruin things but yeah it is what it is, I guess.
> 
> Also thank you all for the comments on the previous chapter, I was stunned at the love and support you guys are offering, you are all too nice to me, really and I love reading them, even though we've established i'm shit at replying. Just know that I appreciate it so much. 
> 
> Special thanks to Etforreal, I absolutely adored to read your take on the story and it was so in-depth and lovely, LilWeirdowhoFangirls thanks to you as well (and you called me buttercup, I feel strangely endeared) then all of the rest, Wintercameandwent, Jades, Carol, Fataizi, calia (and those who I forgot to name, it's very early and I got to bed very late, as I was finishing this.) All of you readers are awesome and I just want you to know that I appreciate all of you. <3
> 
> Don't forget to leave a kudos if you enjoyed the story and comment down below :)  
> until next time. 
> 
> <3

“We never struck you as a child, nor did we put your whipping boy to much use. Perhaps now, a few good strikes here and there would have made you see clearer, as you became a man grown,” Dowager Queen Rhaella told her son, ice lacing her words. Rhaegar was still clutching his cheek, which had turned an angry scarlet, clashing with his pale skin. It seemed as if the king was at a loss for words, _he surely did not expect that,_ Elia thought. _None of us did._

“Moth-” he began but Rhaella closed her eyes, inhaled sharply again and raised her hand into the air, showing that she did not want his words at that very moment. 

“No words could ever undo the havoc you unleashed upon us, nothing you say could ever resonate enough to make it alright. How could you leave your wife as she lay recovering, in her bed of blood, after giving you a son? How could you leave your daughter, to run away with a girl old enough to be her sister? To put them in this danger...” 

“The prophecy dem-” Elia’s husband began but his mother would not have it. 

“Oh, for the Gods’ sakes, Rhaegar!” she exclaimed. “Are you a little kitten? Must we splash you with water each time you tread upon your prophecies, to make sure that you realise they are ambiguous, uncertain things at best, and should not be followed blindly?” King Rhaegar swallowed loudly at that, his other cheek turning flushed from being scolded by his mother. _He is embarrassed,_ the Dornishwoman realised and it was amusing, she had to confess. 

“And you,” Rhaella told Lyanna with a raised eyebrow, who seemed to cower in the corner. “Running off with a wedded man who has children of his own, when you have a betrothed is foolish behavior, you are six-and-ten, are you not? A young woman, but still not a child any longer. I was four-and-ten when I birthed Rhaegar, married for an entire year! I did my duty even though I did not bear my brother any romantic love.” The young Lyanna looked absolutely stricken and distressed. “Do you not think I loved a man as well, in my youth? One before my wedding to Aerys?” _I think she told me his name was Bonifer,_ Elia thought.

“What?” Rhaegar asked but his mother turned to him with a glare. 

“Do not act so surprised, Rhaegar,” she began. “Yet even though he crowned me his Queen of Love and Beauty, I did NOT run away with him, even though I wished to. I was three years younger than your little queen is. Even I could see sense as a girl of three-and-ten. I’ve done my duty all of my life, only for men like you to undermine my thoughts, feelings and cast me aside. Elia gave you two healthy and strong children, at the cost of her health. She loved you as best she could and you repay her with THIS! You repay your family with THIS!” The Queen-mother grew ever more flushed and fervent as she spoke, it unsettled Elia. _Please calm down, good-mother. It is not healthy for the child._ Though the Dornishwoman’s heart warmed at Rhaella’s fierce defense of her and that Rhaegar’s mother was wroth with her son, as well. 

“Please sit down, good-mother,” Elia told Rhaella gently as she moved to her, lightly steering the pregnant Dowager Queen to an armchair. 

“Oh, Elia,” the woman sighed. “Still as good-natured and kind, even after all the scorn you faced at the hands of my husband and son,” Rhaella spoke, eyeing her son coldly. “You did not deserve what has been done to you, my sweet.” 

“Neither did you,” the Dornishwoman whispered, and the Queen-mother knew of which her good-daughter was speaking of. 

“It is a man’s world,” Rhaella said, so sadly. “All we do is live in it.” 

“How we should ever repair the harm you two have caused, gives me a headache to even think of. Yet it will be your headache to bear, Rhaegar, my foolish son. For you caused all of this— alongside her, the willing participant,” the woman murmured as Elia crouched beside her, stroking the hair of silver-gold in a comforting manner. 

“I took your father’s beatings, his rapes and violations of my body, in hopes that one day, we would be rid of him and you would claim the crown-- To mend what he broke. Instead, you unleashed more chaos than he did, even in the maddest of his years.” When Elia looked upon her husband, she saw that a tear had escaped his eyes. _It hurts him to think of his mother in pain, all that she suffered for the prosperity of her children and house-- because she was mindful of her duty._ But she also wagered that it hurt, for him to be compared to his father.

“Do you love him?” the older woman asked, suddenly. Her purple eyes seemed to burn through Lyanna’s grey, unveiling all which was hidden beneath. The wolf-girl nodded, looking apprehensive. 

“That was cruel of you, Rhaegar,” Rhaella said, looking stricken. “Taking advantage of a young woman’s love, for her to do your bidding, like that. But she wished to escape her betrothal just as much as you wished for a Visenya--did you not, girl?” Lyanna frowned and looked down in shame. “Did this come up to par?” the woman asked the wolf-girl. “Was this the adventure you sought, the true romance? No, no. I fear all you received was a bleeding kingdom and a realm full of unquiet ghosts,” Rhaella shook her head, closing her eyes, as if in agony. 

“I love both of my wives,” The King said, so fiercely that Elia almost believed him. 

“I never said you didn’t. However, you loved your prophecies more.” The Dowager Queen’s words were gloomy and only proved to be gloomier as she continued. “Let us not jest, my son. I do not doubt that there is love in your heart for each of these women, but no one will ever have all of you, even if they give you every single piece of themselves, until they are torn and bleeding.”

“I did not ask to be like this,” he told his mother quietly and somehow it felt like the most sincere thing he’d told anyone, ever since he returned from the battle at the Trident. Rhaella beckoned her son forward with a gesture of her hand and he obliged, kneeling in front of her, seeming more like a lost boy, than a king. 

“Oh, my child. I know you did not,” she sighed and looked at her firstborn, reaching out to touch his reddening cheek, where a bruise would surely lay in the morn. 

“What a mess you made of things, Rhaegar. What an utter mess.” 

“I know, mother,” he told her, laying his head in her lap and somehow the scene felt too intimate for Elia and Lyanna to bear witness to. For Rhaegar and Rhaella, it seemed like his queens were not present at all. Her husband looked as if all he wanted to do, was be held and soothed by his mother. _A son looking for guidance, not a king._ “I will never forgive myself.” 

“I fear nothing can atone for these grievous sins, my son. But there is time to redeem, to seal weeping wounds and flourish. To make sure that such a thing never happens again.” 

“Will you help me, mother?” Rhaella looked to the son in her lap and stroked the silver-gold hair, beneath his crown. 

“For as long as I am able. Yet you are a king now, you must let go of the naive boy within you because the world will eat you alive, if you do not. Great-uncle Aemon told our grandfather to kill the boy within him and let the man be born, for the realm needed an Aegon, not an Egg. This realm needs King Rhaegar, not the silver-prince who plays so beautifully on his harp. Be just and merciful-- rule righteously and be gracious yet stern, do not let them mistake your kindness for weakness.” Elia’s husband nodded, holding onto his mother. 

“You are not Aerys, thank the Gods for that, and you will never be, but remember his mistakes, his wrongdoings and faults. Aspire to be great, and you will be.” Queen-mother Rhaella eyed her son’s crown with apprehension.

“Your father was mad, but prophecies are madder. Leave them behind you, Rhaegar. There is no time for it now, no time at all.” 

“I’m sorry, mother,” he whispered and Elia decided that perhaps it was time for her and Lyanna to leave. _He needs to be alone with his mother and she needs to be with her son._

“I will tend to Viserys, good-mother. I shall place him with Rhaenys, Aegon and Aemon in their nursery, for now. We will let you have your privacy,” she told Rhaegar’s mother with a kiss to her cool temple, then eyeing Lyanna who nodded. The Dowager Queen smiled. 

“You are too kind, Elia, my gentle flower. Your mother would have been proud of you, I hope you know.” The Dornishwoman simply smiled and put a light hand on her good-mother’s shoulder, rising to leave. Rhaegar stood up, moving to Lyanna and kissing her cheek. 

“Goodnight,” he told her and somehow the sight tore at something within Elia. _I am cursed to never be fully loved, it seems. Always the second choice, the one who is never quite enough-- The one who only manages._ She turned around and opened the door, leaving it ajar, when she heard a breathless voice call for her. 

“Elia.” Rhaegar’s indigo eyes met her and they were the kind of sorrowful that made a person even more beautiful, somehow. _People always seem to look lovelier in the midst of their personal pain, why the Gods made it so, I do not know._

He tried smiling at her but she simply stared. Then he touched her cheek and she found herself closing her eyes and sighing. In one fluid motion, his arms were around her, soft and tender, not at all constricting like the previous week. She found herself wroth, that her body molded into his like that, even though he had hurt her time upon time. 

“I am sorry,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. 

“I know. You always are,” _When it is too late,_ was all she said before heading outside, not looking back. _If I do, then all I shall see is those sad, indigo eyes and I can’t, not now._

“Elia!” she heard a voice squeal from the hall and suddenly, she was embraced by a mop of silver-gold and black, clinging to her skirts. The Dornishwoman let out a sweet laugh and was met by lilac eyes, bright with youth. 

“Viserys, my love. You are returned to me,” she smiled, bending down so that she could be of a height with him. 

“I missed you,” the boy said warmly, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck. A sudden burst of emotion took hold of the Dornish queen and she almost found herself weeping with relief. 

“Not a day went by that I did not think of you, my sweet,” she whispered and the young prince clung to her tightly. “Rhaenys has missed you, as well.” 

“Mother says papa is gone,” he mumbled into her hair. 

“Your father was ill, Viserys. He is with the Gods now, his true home.” The Dowager Queen Rhaella had protected her young son from the worst of his father’s madness, and Elia thought it a mercy. _That he did not know what an utter monster his father was. In due time he shall find out, but for now, let him be young and have the fond memories to hold at night._

“I am glad that you are not gone, Elia.” That made her kiss the top of his head, then she disembarked from his embrace, looking into his eyes. She hoped her eyes conveyed the love she bore for her good-brother. 

After she kissed his cheek softly, she found his lilac eyes brimming with tears. 

“Do not weep, my love. You are home and your niece and nephews will be delighted to see you, I assure you.” 

“Mother says that Rhaegar had another child with a woman. Is it a bastard?” he asked curiously. 

“No, Prince Aemon is trueborn, Viserys. Rhaegar took Queen Lyanna as a second wife.” 

“I heard mother talk to Ser Willem of that, she was most wroth. Is Queen Lyanna the reason for the war, then?” 

“Many are to blame for this war, it does no good to dwell on it now. It is done and overwith, now we must only rebuild.” The prince nodded, taking Elia’s hand as she stood up. 

“My brother won’t leave you, will he?” the boy asked, sounding nervous. “He won’t make you leave us?” 

The question made Elia frown. “Why would he do that?” 

“He went and fetched himself another wife and a new son,” Viserys answered. 

“Rhaenys, Aegon and I are not going anywhere yet, Viserys.” 

“ I won’t let him take you from us,” the young prince said, fiercely. “I’ll protect you,” he swore and the statement brought a fond smile to her lips. _My fierce little dragon._

“It will not come to that, sweetling, so do not dwell on it.” 

“Do you promise?” his lilac eyes grew larger than life itself, as she gazed into them. 

“I do, Viserys.” 

“I drew Balerion for Rhae,” he said, shyly. That made the Dornishwoman smile. 

“Did you now? How charming of you, she will be absolutely delighted.” Prince Viserys’s cheeks grew red, then and it endeared Elia. _Oh, to be young and full of innocent love again._

“Is Aegon big now?” he asked as they were close to the nursery, Ser Willem trailing behind them. The Prince had only briefly met his nephew, for Aegon was born on Dragonstone and Elia was too sick to travel to King’s Landing to present him. They’d decreed that the babe should remain with his mother, for perhaps he’d give her strength to go on. When they arrived in King’s Landing, Aerys kept Elia and her children in Maegor’s holdfast, and the prince separate from them. 

“Bigger, yet he is still a babe in arms, shy of his first nameday.” The Dornish queen nodded at Ser Jaime when they arrived outside of the nursery. “He looks a bit like you, I’d say,” she told the prince and earned a hopeful smile. “He does,” she assured him. “With the purple eyes and silver-gold hair.” 

“Will you let me hold him?” 

“Of course, Viserys, he is your nephew. But it will have to be in the morn, for they are all sound asleep by now.” 

They entered the nursery with quiet steps, Rhaenys laid asleep in her bed, breathing softly and the babes were in their cots, asleep as well. Elia helped Viserys dress into his sleeping garments and then found that there was no other bed in the nursery. _Rhaenys’s bed is large enough,_ the queen pondered, _it is only for a night._

“Viserys,” she whispered and his lilac eyes turned to her. “You will have to sleep beside Rhaenys in her bed for this night, as there is no other bed here. Is that alright?” Her good-brother turned to his niece with a soft look in his eyes. 

“Yes.” 

With that said, Elia gently scooted her daughter inwards, for more space to be made available for the older Prince. The girl barely made a sound. _This one can sleep through a siege._ He stood by the edge of the bed for a few moments and Elia watched him with a fascination, wondering what he would do next. His pale hand reached out to stroke his niece’s brown curls softly, with a tender smile on his face. Then, he climbed underneath the covers snuggled next to the princess, resting his arm atop her small frame. 

“Goodnight, Viserys,” Elia said, bending down to kiss his forehead. 

“Night, Elia,” he mumbled. “I love you.” She felt her throat tighten at that, and her heart brim with love. 

“I love you too, sweetling.” 

***

Elia woke the next day, to her daughter and brother’s voices. 

“Tell her,” Rhaenys whispered to her uncle. 

“No, you wished to go here, you have to wake her,” Oberyn hissed back at the girl. 

“You do!”

“No, you!” The Dornish Queen was half-awake by then, wondering who was in her chambers and why they sounded like her family. Realisation struck rather quickly and with her eyes still closed, she frowned. 

“Oberyn?” Elia asked, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. 

“Elia,” he greeted loudly. “See,” he told Princess Rhaenys, “In due time.” When the Dornishwoman looked at her brother, she saw that he held the princess against his hip and that both she and Prince Oberyn were dressed. 

“Did I sleep so long?” Oberyn laughed and looked to his niece. 

“No, this one simply woke horribly early and decided to sneak out of the nursery, with the help of her loyal, sworn shield, to steal into my chambers and wake me from a peaceful slumber.” _Ser Jaime helped the little princess escape her shackles, how chivalrous, she thought,_ a smile taking over her features.

“Did not!” the girl hissed but the Viper of Dorne rose an eyebrow. “Exactly...” the girl continued, tripping over her words as she was still young. _Where did she hear that word from?_ The Dornishwoman thought in amusement.

“Then how come I am here, and everyone else is asleep?” The way they bickered amongst themselves made Elia laugh heartily. Until she mulled over her brother’s words.

“Hold on, she stole into your chambers?” The Prince of a different realm nodded. 

“I do hope that you were clothed and decent when this happened,” she eyed him with raised eyebrows. “I would not wish to have my children traumatized so early, at the hands of you.” Her brother gasped as if he took offense from her words and put his free hand atop his chest.

“How dare you insinuate that I was doing aught else than sleeping peacefully?” 

“Oh I do not know,” Elia drawled. “Perhaps your ever-growing number of children fueled that insinuation,” she continued innocently. 

“It seems we’ve reached an impasse, sister,” he said. “Well played.” 

“I learned from the best,” she smirked, rising out of bed, into the adjacent bathing room. Oberyn and the princess followed. 

“Mama!” Rhaenys said suddenly, as if a thought just struck her. 

“Yes, my child?” Elia asked as she washed her face with the rosewater in her basin, reaching a hand out, beckoning her brother to hand her a towel. 

“I am not your servant,” he grumbled. 

“I am your liege, as queen, and a year older,” she said, sweetly. “Do not forget.”

“How could I? You never allow me to.” Their fresh banter made the queen’s spirits for the day soar into the skies above.

“Mama,” her daughter said again, annoyed at being ignored. 

“Oh do not give me that petulant look, my sweet,” Queen Elia replied, moving to stroke her daughter’s cheek, looking into those joyful, lavender eyes. 

“Mama, I dreamed of Viserys and he was there when I woke,” the girl said, eyes shining bright. “I missed him,” she continued. That warmed Elia’s heart to the brim.

“Was he awake when you left?” The Dornishwoman inquired and her daughter shook her head, brown locks swaying gently from the action.

“Shall we go greet him? I am sure he would love the company.” Rhaenys squealed and nodded. Oberyn looked strangely apprehensive but nodded, nonetheless. 

“We will wait in the sitting room, for you to dress.” 

“Alright,” she replied and then Oberyn was gone, without any noise. Elia hurried, selecting a flowy gown of pale blue, it reminded her of Lyro’s eyes and clashed so prettily with her beige skin. Then, a handmaid combed her hair and braided it, finally placing the crown atop her head. The Dornish Queen thanked and dismissed the handmaid whose name she could not quite recall. _She must be new. Yet I miss Ashara._

“Hurry!” the Princess was heard urging from the sitting room, making her mother laugh sweetly. “Yes, please do,” Oberyn replied snottily, which earned a scoff from Elia. 

“I am here,” she announced and her brother sighed dramatically. 

“Finally!” he exclaimed, offering the arm that was not holding his niece in place.

“To the nursery we head,” Elia said evenly and Ser Jaime joined them when they were beyond the wooden door. 

The walk proved to be quite quick, mayhaps because time passed faster when one was enjoying themselves. All joined in, speaking of different topics and such. Jaime and Oberyn spoke of adventure, his travels and the knight’s prowess. The Lannister still remembered the Dornish prince vividly from their visit, years past and slyly offered to duel with the prince, if he so wished. Oberyn smirked and said that he would uphold the knight to that offer. 

“You look happy,” Oberyn mused to his sister. “It becomes you.” 

“I agree,” the young knight said with sparkling, emerald eyes and Elia found herself feeling slightly shy. 

“Thank you,” she replied with a blinding smile directed at both men. “I am.”

“We’re here!” Princess Rhaenys exclaimed. “Maybe Balerion woke him,” she continued, in a ponder. _Oh, my clever little daughter._

“You will have to tell Balerion to behave.” that made the princess frown. 

“He loves uncle Viserys, he slept between us,” she said, lavender eyes bright. 

“Did he now?” Oberyn asked. “What an odd creature.” 

“You haven’t even met the beast,” Elia scoffed. “Balerion is sweet when he wants to be, is he not, Ser Jaime?” 

“Oh, yes indeed. He has not scratched me as of yet, which I view as an accomplishment of the highest order.” 

“See?” The Dornishwoman smirked at her brother. 

“I will never step within the vicinity of the beast, if he injures me,” Oberyn grumbled. 

“Do not be so dramatic, brother. It would only be a scratch.” 

“Can you fault me? I only enjoy pain when it is accompanied by immediate pleasure.” That made Ser Jaime snort and Elia roll her eyes. 

“How I have missed you, Oberyn,” the Dornishwoman sighed, smiling. 

“How could you not?” the man replied with arrogance. 

“And now you ruined our moment.” 

“Would you have it any other way?” Elia shook her head and opened the door to the nursery, whereupon she noticed that Viserys was not in the bed. 

Searching around the room, she found the boy standing by Aegon’s crib, gazing at the sleeping babe. Lilac eyes turned toward them upon their entrance and he smiled, shyly. 

“Viserys,” Elia greeted him and he began moving toward her, when Rhaenys squirmed in Oberyn’s hold until he let her down, gently. The boy was already dressed, courtesy of himself, in the previous night’s black tunic and breeches.

“Viserys!” the princess squealed, running into her uncle’s arms, almost causing him to fall backwards. Her r’s sounded more like j’s, for even though she was far exceeding the mental capabilities of a girl her age, she could not as of yet, roll her r’s. _It sounds adorable, though, all agree._

“Rhae,” the boy greeted softly, holding onto her and closing his eyes in bliss. The sight was pure and sweet, even Oberyn seemed touched by it.

“Has Aegon woken?” Elia asked Prince Viserys, when Rhaenys let go of him. He nodded and shyly asked if he could hold the babe, now. 

“Of course,” she smiled, leaning down to kiss her good-brother’s head as she passed him, to get to her son’s cot. _Aemon is not in his, she noted. Perhaps Rhaegar showed him to Rhaella last eve._

Her son let out a tiny noise as his mother picked him up, bleary purple eyes meeting her brown. _It is time to meet your other uncle, my sweet._

“Here,” she told Viserys, who embraced the babe gently in his arms. “Do not forget to support his head.” The babe cooed and babbled in his uncle’s arms, and the young prince eyed his nephew with soft eyes. 

“He looks like you,” the boy began, smiling at Elia. “But with Rhaegar’s colors. The mouth and shape of his eyes are all yours.” 

“I think I agree with the prince on this matter, sister,” Oberyn told her. _I hope they can bond. My brother could teach Viserys much and more._

Viserys looked at Oberyn and there seemed to be fear, apprehension and awe, all at the same time, swirling in his eyes. _He must be intimidated,_ she realised. _Oberyn has that effect on people, and his father’s stories and scorn about Dornishmen surely must have taken root somewhere._ The Dornish queen decided that she would speak with Viserys later and try to calm his worries, if he had any. Then, she would talk to Oberyn of perhaps taking the princeling under his wings. _Rhaegar is busy and his brother needs someone, at this sensitive stage of his life._

“Shall we all break fast together?” Elia turned to her brother. “You can fetch Ellaria and Lyro. Ser Jaime, you are free to join us.” Both Oberyn and the knight nodded. 

“I will accompany you, but I fear I have already eaten. Nonetheless, I shall wait outside.” Then, Ser Jaime left. The Prince of Dorne moved to do the same, when Rhaenys exclaimed that she found Balerion. 

“Here he is, uncle!” she said, grabbing the cat with both her arms. It looked a little painful and Elia could not say that she wished to be the cat in that moment, but Balerion made no protests toward his master. 

Oberyn looked at the black cat with wariness but the young princess would have none of it.

“Arms,” she demanded and her uncle bent down and outreached them, almost wincing as the cat was plopped into his grasp. Viserys and Elia looked at each other amusedly and burst into giggles. _The viper of Dorne, frightened of a kitchen cat._ Her brother simply rolled his eyes at their laughter.

“He is quite fat,” Oberyn mused, barely moving his arms. Balerion’s golden eyes stared at the stranger intently, until the Dornishman dared to pet him behind the ears. 

Purring, the cat stretched comfortably in Oberyn’s arms. During the same time, Viserys returned Aegon to Elia with a murmur of thanks, for being allowed to hold him. She simply stroked his cheek and stared at her good-brother with affection. 

“Balerion is not fat!” Rhaenys pouted and Viserys instead moved to his niece’s side, bending down and stroking her cheek. 

“I drew Balerion for you,” he said so sweetly and Rhaenys’s lavender eyes grew big and unworldly in the dim lighting. 

“Did you?” she gasped and the princeling nodded. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed, almost jumping into her uncle’s arms, and wrapping her small arms around the boy’s neck. Prince Viserys laughed softly and stroked her back. 

“Anything for you.” Queen Elia sighed at the remark. _My sweet little girl has everyone wrapped around her little finger._ Yet she did not count it as a bad thing. Rhaenys was simply the darling of everyone she met, with her kind, clever, sweet yet demanding and willful nature. _A true ruler,_ Elia mused. 

“I shall go and fetch Ellaria and Lyro. No doubt they are having very much fun without me.” 

“Do not doubt it, brother,” Elia teased and Oberyn rolled his eyes. Gently, Oberyn released a content Balerion atop one of the pillows and departed. 

“We should get going as well, sweetlings.” Rhaenys and Viserys nodded, grabbing each other’s hands and together, they all, along with Ser Jaime, departed toward the great hall. 

“Perhaps we should ask if your mother would like to join us, as well, Viserys?” The thought struck the Dornishwoman just as they were outside the great hall. Viserys turned to her. 

“Yes,” he began with somewhat melancholy eyes, “I think she should like that.” 

“Ser Jaime, would you be so kind as to order a servant to bring our invite for the Queen-mother?” The golden-haired knight smiled and nodded. “Oh, but tell them to leave her be, if she is asleep. I would not wish to bother her, it was a long day, last eve.” she said, right before he left. 

“As you bid, Your Grace,” he said. “I shall be right back.” Elia nodded.

“We will be by one of the tables, no doubt.” she winked at the knight, “Perhaps it would prove a fun game for you to spot us.” 

“No doubt,” the man smirked. Together with the young princes and princesses, they found a seat by the benches in the front. Some lords and ladies were already breaking their fast, and Elia greeted them all with smiles and courtesies, as did Viserys and Rhaenys. 

“I want fried bread and eggs,” Viserys told the servants and Elia eyed him with an expectant expression. “Please,” the boy continued, his cheeks flushing. 

“Me too, please,” Rhaenys smiled, her lavender eyes enchanting everyone who gazed into them. 

“We mustn’t forget our courtesies, children,” Elia told them gently and Viserys, still blushing, nodded and mumbled an apology. 

“We shall have some porridge sweetened with honey, shall we not, Aegon?” she asked her son, softly before turning to the servant with a smile. 

“Alright m’queen,” the maid said and scurried away. 

“Look who it is,” the Dornishwoman told the prince and princess, tittering lightly at their eager expressions. Oberyn was walking in, alongside Ellaria, dressed in a beautiful red gown, with a deep neckline and her dark hair, loose about her shoulders. Lyro was donning a blue tunic and black breeches, his flaxen hair delightfully mussed. 

“Lyro, Ellaria,” she greeted, standing up and smiling happily. The bastard of Hellholt kissed her upon the cheek and stroked the soft tufts of Aegon’s silvery hair.

“Elia,” she said, green eyes sparkling. 

Lyro turned to her with a handsome smile and embraced her.

“Good morning,” he whispered into her ear, pulling back to kiss her cheek. Then he turned his gaze toward the baby Aegon, who was eyeing the man curiously. 

“Are you not the sweetest thing?” the Lyseni man asked the babe, stroking his cheek tenderly. 

“You should see him when he is displeased, the boy has a pair of healthy lungs,” she laughed and he joined in as well. 

“I am glad to see you smiling, Elia,” he told her quietly and she looked at him adoringly. 

“I am happy,” she confessed. “My good-mother and good-brother arrived, my brother is here and so are you and Ellaria. I am safe, my children are safe.” 

“Let us eat, I am famished,” Oberyn cut in just as Lyro was to respond. She turned to her brother with an amused glare. 

“You are rudely interrupting our conversation.” 

“One of the benefits of having the status as a prince, is that I can, sister,” the Dornish prince replied, lazily. 

“One of the privileges as a queen is that I can have you thrown in the black cells if you displease me,” she told her brother who scoffed. 

“And who would be there to amuse and annoy you, then? Lyro sings and recites beautifully, Ellaria has a way with words, but clearly I am the superior when it comes to irking and making you laugh.” beaming, Elia rolled her eyes. _I do love him._ Oberyn, Ellaria and Lyro ordered what they wished to eat and then they all spoke merrily with each other, waiting for their food to be brought to them. 

“How old are you, Prince Viserys?” Oberyn asked curiously and the princeling seemed to choke on his tongue when being spoken to by the Viper of Dorne. 

“It is alright, Viserys,” Elia soothed him and finally, he replied. 

“Eight, I had my nameday on Dragonstone.” 

“Ah,” Oberyn began. “Do you wish to be a knight, then?” Prince Viserys pondered for a few moments. 

“I suppose,” the boy said, his clear lilac eyes meeting Oberyn’s dark ones. “Rhaegar is,” he shrugged. 

“Your brother is a lot of things that you are not,” the Red Viper replied darkly and Viserys seemed to sense that his brother was not high in Oberyn’s esteem. 

“Oberyn is simply being difficult,” the Dornishwoman told her good-brother. “Did you not tell me that you wished to learn how to fight with a spear, before you left for Dragonstone, Viserys?” The prince nodded eagerly. 

“Well Oberyn here is famed for his prowess with it. He can teach you, I am sure.” 

“Will you?” the boy gasped, a smile clouding his features. Queen Elia eyed her brother expectantly. _He cannot deny Viserys this, and it would bring him a sadistic sort of relief to grow closer with my good-brother, he knows it’ll irk Rhaegar to have his brother consort with his wife’s brother, instead of himself._ Yet she wouldn’t allow Oberyn to blatantly use Viserys like a piece in a game of Cyvasse. If her brother was to teach the prince, then she would not allow for it to be out of spite. _My good-brother is quick and light on his feet, like my brother. I am sure that Oberyn will grow fond of him._

“Perhaps,” the man grumbled. 

“He will,” Elia smiled, reassuring Viserys. 

“Thank you,” the princeling said, looking straight into Oberyn’s eyes. 

“It is hard work, soon you will regret thanking me for it,” the Red Viper smiled. 

The food arrived rather quickly, steaming bowls of porridge, bacon, fried bread and eggs. It all smelled wonderful and they ate, rejoicing in each other’s company. The children finished first and Elia allowed Aegon to eat his fill of the porridge. Soon he was dazed and content in her arms, his fingers occasionally running through the locks of her hair, a gesture that both seemed to find comforting. As Queen Elia gazed upon the people surrounding the table, her heart brimmed with love and adoration for them. _We are complete, at last,_ yet there was still something missing in her heart. Something she could not quite name. 

“Melly is here to bring you all to your baths,” Elia told the children when she spotted the happy face of the wet-and-nursery maid. 

“Can Viserys join me for my lessons?” Rhaenys asked, her eyes pleading. “Please, mama?” Viserys nodded fervently and the Dornishwoman could not bring herself to separate them quite yet. 

“Alright. Melly, will you notify the septa of that?” 

“Yes, m’queen.” Then Elia handed a dozing Aegon to the woman and the children were off on their way, only Lyro, Elia, Oberyn and Ellaria remaining at the table. 

“I am so happy that you are all here,” Elia told the people at the table, feeling a burst of sentimentality. Oberyn who was seated next to her, kissed her cheek and eyed her with a delicate look in his eyes. 

“Too bad we cannot stay longer,” he sighed. “I will try to make arrangements for you and the children to travel to Dorne. Mayhaps it will not be now, but I promise you that it will happen.” That made the Dornish queen smile. 

“I know, Oberyn,” she told him softly. “One day.” 

“You must needs write to us,” Ellaria cut it gently. 

“Yes,” Lyro agreed. 

“I would not want to be a bother,” Elia told them unsurely. The Dornishwoman was a woman prone to insecurity in others’ company. The south was not kind to her when she arrived and everywhere, people hid behind false smiles and courtesies, always wanting something in return. She knew this was not the case with Lyro and Ellaria but the thought of someone loving her for being just her, was foreign after so long without it. 

Ellaria scoffed and Lyro eyed Elia incredulously. 

“How could you ever be a bother?” he asked and Ellaria placed a soft hand atop Elia’s.

“We love you and Dorne loves their Queen. Do not doubt it, please,” she pleaded, her green eyes warm and fluid. Tears began to well in the Dornishwoman’s eyes but she forced them to retreat. _Not now. These are happy times for me._

“Let us not think of such matters yet. You still have more than a fortnight left in the capital.” 

“We do,” Oberyn said, smiling. “Plenty of time for me to irk you.” 

“Elia, dear,” she heard a woman say from behind her. 

“Rhaella,” she exclaimed, standing up when she saw her good-mother, moving to embrace the taller queen. 

“Please sit down,” she beckoned the woman after they departed from their embrace. 

“I forgot what a pain it is to be with child,” the woman laughed, her beauty lighting up the room. _I hope this babe will thrive in its mother’s womb,_ Elia found herself thinking. _She of all, deserves it._

“Would you like some porridge?” Elia asked and Rhaella, who nodded kindly.

“Prince Oberyn,” the Dowager Queen greeted. “It has been years since I last saw you.” 

“Your husband was not exactly inviting,” Oberyn replied, quick as a snake. 

“Lack of hospitality was not his only fault, sadly. We are well rid of him,” she sighed. Whatever Oberyn had expected the Queen-mother to say, that was not it. He seems baffled, almost. Yet the Viper of Dorne quickly concealed his surprise with an air of indifference. 

“Your son has not been particularly endeared toward Dorne either, considering 10,000 men and our uncle died for his cause.” _In the war he started,_ her brother left unsaid. Elia observed the interaction warily, yet the queen mother merely sighed. 

“My son was a bumbling fool,” she admitted. “Yet he is now aware of his faults and is working to mend them. He earns no sympathies for his actions from me, yet I am his mother and a mother must love her child.” Elia put a comforting, warm hand on her good-mother’s pale one. 

“Is it not treason to call the king a fool?” Oberyn asked, amusement shining in his eyes.

“During my brother’s late reign, yes. However, if it was, would I not be greeted with you as my companion in the black cells below? You do not cover your disdain easily, My Prince and you’ve never struck me as the man who keeps silent when something displeases you,” she smiled, having trapped the Red Viper. “And we have displeased you, greatly. There is no doubt in my mind-- Dorne deserved better and in time, I hope we can mend these grievous wounds. We are family, now. Martell and Targaryen entwined.” 

“Your husband was never too pleased by that,” Oberyn said, breezily and Elia wished he could give it a rest. _Aerys’s sins are not Rhaella’s to atone for._

“My husband was a mad fool, good for nothing but disappointment and fear. Weak men should never be king and though I loathed him by the end, our start was promising,” she replied, her voice misty with recollection. “They thought he would become another Jaehaerys the wise, yet some madness took hold of him in the end and he was lost. Ser Jaime may have put an end to the monster that was Aerys Targaryen, but my brother died long before.” 

“You have twice the strength your Aerys had. In Dorne, you would have ruled, had you been born first.” 

“Alas this is the south and we are not so advanced as you are in Dorne.” Rhaella smiled sadly as she said it.

The Dowager queen had made an impression on her brother. Elia saw it in the impressed glint of his eyes, the way he listened so intently to her words, the way he smiled, smirked and laughed at her dry and wry jests. It eased Elia’s heavy heart to see that Oberyn got along well with Rhaella and Viserys, at the least. _He has no personal affronts with them._ When it came to Rhaegar and Lyanna, their actions personally impacted the Dornish prince’s family, which is why Elia understood that he would never amount to be anything but civil at most, with them. _Oberyn, would never blame a son for the crimes of his father, or the wife for the sins of her husband._ He was wary, she understood, _but he has received his confirmation that Viserys and Rhaella are no threats._

“Do you think it is a boy or a girl?” Elia asked her good-mother as discussions between Oberyn and Lyro broke out, regarding who sang better. It amused both Elia, Rhaella and Ellaria to listen to. However, when asked the question, her good-mother looked uncertain. 

“I hope it is a child. A living one. That is all I can ask for.” 

“It will be,” Elia promised. “I can sense it. We will be alright, good-mother.” Rhaella smiled and met Elia’s gaze with purple eyes that had seen too much grief in their short time. 

***

Elia told her brother and his paramours that they were free to enjoy themselves for the day, without feeling obligated to spend time with her. They assured her that they loved doing so, but she felt as if they deserved time for themselves, as well. The Dornish queen decided that she would spend the remainder of the day with her good-mother Rhaella, in the Dowager Queen’s chambers. She asked the servants to bring them some tea and cakes. 

The rain was spattering against the windows comfortably as the fire burned in the hearth. It filled the sitting room with a comforting calm and Queen-mother Rhaella seemed to find the most solace in it, of all. Elia chose the velvety armchair to sit down in, whilst her good-mother chose the one in front of the Dornishwoman. There was a table separating them, a small oval thing, only good for placing a tray of tea and cakes upon. _Perfect,_ she thought as the flames from the fire warmed her. 

“These are not the chambers you shared with Aerys,” the Dornishwoman noted and earned a short, harsh laugh from the woman. 

“No and thank the Gods for that. I do not think my child or I would feel content with his unquiet ghost, haunting us in the night.” 

“I am sorry for all you had to suffer at his hands,” she told the silver-haired queen, frowning softly. 

“You suffered as well, child. All in hopes that one day it would cease, which it did, but not in the way anyone would have wished.” The Queen-mother had eyes of true purple, not indigo or lilac, but that deep and haunting shade. 

“We lived to tell the tale at the least.” 

“Barely,” Rhaella scoffed. “How my son could leave you in the hands of my mad husband and then through the chaos of when he finally perished. It was cruel and unseemly and I know it plagues Rhaegar still, yet it does not excuse him.” The old queen rubbed her temple with delicate hands. “I should have put a stop to these foul prophecies before he fell victim to these grand illusions. That damned Prince That Was Promised was the ruin of my family. The reason I was forced to wed Aerys.” 

“You could not have known,” Elia soothed. 

“I am his mother, I should have seen,” she exclaimed heatedly. “I told him it was destructive behavior that would ruin him one day, and foolishly thought he would heed my counsel.”

“Do not blame yourself, good-mother. The fault lies not with you and all that you went through is a testament of your strength.” 

“We are both women who did our duty, and look where it got us,” the Queen-mother sighed and Elia shook her head, moving to place her palm atop Rhaella’s hand. 

“I will not say that I was not angry, for I still am. I nearly lost my children as he was fucking that girl in a tower that laid in my homeland. I have not forgotten, nor forgiven them. Yet… I cannot bring myself to hate him either. I loved him once and an incessant part of me clings to it, still, even through it all.” Rhaella gazed at her with sad, empathetic eyes. 

“Oh, child,” Rhaella said embracing her. “You are gentle to the bones. If Rhaenys and Aegon have even the slightest bit of your nature, then they will be the greatest ruler this realm ever saw. How I wish things could have been different… for all of us.” 

“It does not do good to dwell on the things we cannot change. I did and it only brought me further grief. We have gorged on enough suffering, we need not more.” 

“My son did this realm a great injustice, let us hope that he can try to remedy that. He does not deserve your forgiveness, nor will I ever ask you to give it. He is sorry, yes, but there is only so much that one can do and apologise for until it starts to lose its meaning. He grieves, yes, but more than us? I cannot answer that, I fear.” From the Queen-mother’s words, Rhaegar seemed to be suffering more than Elia realised in the beginning. _I hope he does hurt for what he did to us. It is only right._

“No one can claim to know the mind of Rhaegar,” Elia said. “It will only give us a headache to try.”

“My sweet, sad son. Plagued by the ghosts of Summerhal and the imaginary burden of a glorious purpose. I do not know how he was made this way, yet it is only for the Gods to know and not for me to question.” Rhaella’s mouth was set in a sad line. “He is not evil, Elia, you must know that. Aerys does not nest within him but he always feared he’d be like his father.” 

“I know,” she said staring into her good-mother’s eyes, their arms still around each other. _It brings us both a comfort._

“Now let us speak of happier things,” Rhaella exclaimed, disembarking from the embrace, wiping her eyes and resuming the position on her armchair. Sadness still haunted her eyes, yet the Queen-mother seemed to force herself to stuff it down, deep and dark and underneath. “I was planning to visit my grandchildren later in the eve and I hear Viserys slept beside Rhaenys last eve. His chamber is not yet completed, would it be alright for another night?” 

“Of course,” Elia said. “And I have been thinking…” The thought struck the Dornishwoman that Rhaenys might not enjoy sharing a nursery with her brothers, for they would wake up squalling in the midst of the night, on the occasion. _She has not mentioned anything of it, but then again, she is a supremely heavy sleeper._ Now that Viserys was returned and closer to her age, Elia thought that mayhaps they could share a chamber, since Rhaenys was too young for one of her own. 

“What?” Rhaella asked kindly. 

“That perhaps Rhaenys and Viserys should share a chamber. Aegon and Aemon are young, still in their infancy, whilst she and Viserys are closer in age. My daughter is too old for the nursery and too young to have chambers of her own.” The Queen-mother pondered it for a few moments and then nodded. 

“You are quite correct, Elia,” she mused. “If Rhaegar allows it, then I see no issues with it, and it would only be for two or three years. Besides, Viserys is so fond of his little niece. He never quite quit speaking of how he longed to meet his niece and nephew again.” 

“Such a kind and sweet boy, he is.” 

“Your brother told me of how Viserys wishes to learn how to fight with a spear,” the Dowager queen relied, smiling softly. 

“When?” Elia asked. 

“When you were speaking to the Lyseni of a Valyrian poem, I reckon.” 

“Oh,” Elia said, smiling. “He did and Oberyn is quite skilled in that department.”

“I do not doubt it,” Rhaella said. “If anyone is up to par, it is the Red Viper, to be sure. I will make the arrangements.” 

“What if Rhaegar does not agree?” Elia wondered how her husband would react toward it. Queen-mother Rhaella snorted as if it the question amused her to no end.

“Viserys was my son before he became the king’s brother. Rhaegar will have to make due with it, as we have been forced to make due with all of his mummery. 

“I suppose,” the Dornishwoman said, grinning. Her good-mother was too good for this world. She was. 

***

She was close to falling asleep when a commotion outside disrupted her, irritating the woman deeply. _It is in the midst of the night, for the Gods’ sakes._

“No, Arthur, I dem-demand to see my wife,” a voice hiccupped. _Rhaegar?_ Elia wondered, frowning as she threw the silken covers off, rubbing her tired eyes with her hands. She heard a voice bickering with what she assumed was her husband. 

Elia moved closer toward her door, feeling gooseprickles form on her bare arms and legs. _I must feed the fire,_ she thought in dismay, for moments earlier she had laid content in her bed, underneath the warming covers. Suddenly, the door swung open and the king stumbled in drunkenly. At first, the Dornishwoman was surprised. _What is the meaning of this?_ In the years of her marriage, she’d never seen her husband truly become drunk. _He always managed himself so well, wine never spoke to him in the way it does certain men._

After the confusion faded, however, she found anger taking its place. Closing her eyes, she inhaled and exhaled deeply, counting to the number ten, like her old maester told her to do when trying times visited her, for lashing out was unladylike. _I was never much of a lady, anyway,_ she thought wryly. Though the habit stuck, for some reason. 

“Elia!” King Rhaegar exclaimed with boyish delight, inching closer to her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Arthur standing and watching the situation with hopeless eyes. 

“Rhaegar,” she gritted out, gazing at him coldly. “What is the meaning of this?” He seemed unbothered by her cold and angry attitude, instead stumbling into her arms, unaware of his much heavier body. Elia stumbled backwards, trying to stabilize them both with a drunk Rhaegar clinging to her. 

“I missed you,” he mumbled and she made the mistake of inhaling, her nose immediately assaulted by the smell of wine and sweat. 

“What the fuck, Rhaegar?” she asked him harshly. Ironically, this was the happiest and most carefree she had ever seen her husband. _Too bad he needs to drink himself into a stupor to become a normal man._ Yet the thought struck her that none of them were quite normal, nor would they ever be. Her husband didn’t reply directly, but started mumbling incoherencies, of stars and cold, fires and nights that would never end. Then he spoke of how it was all a lie, never responding when she asked _what._

Finally, she had enough of him acting like a spoiled toddler. 

“Your daughter of three years behaves more eloquently than you,” Elia seethed, pushing him to the bed, for him to finally let go of her. Stupidly, he fell backwards atop the silken sheets and surprised even himself. Then he raised his head, looking at her with deep, indigo eyes. 

“You’re pretty when you’re angry,” he slurred. “I just want to put you in a little pouch and walk around.” Elia tried counting to ten again but it didn’t work. 

“Leave,” the Dornishwoman gritted out, “Before I actually geld or kill you, once and for all,” she hissed. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, one, two, three-_

“You cannot geld or kill a king, Elia,” he laughed as if it was all a funny jest, then he fell silent. His sudden quietness unnerved her.

“I can do both,” she offered coldly. “Leave,” she repeated but garnered no response from him. _Gods, please do not make him retch in my bed, I will throttle him if he does, king or not._

“Rhaegar?” she called, shaking his leg to no avail. “Rhaegar,” she repeated, more sternly. _Do I have two children or three?_ She asked the Gods. _You all love to play your games with me._ When the king did not move, Elia sighed and looked at him, passed out like some common drunkard in her bed. _What drove him to this?_ She wondered. All she knew was that the man reeked of wine and that a scandal would surely emerge if he was seen being carried out of her chamber in the midst of the night. _They’ll most like say the viper wench poisoned him._ The thought made the Dornish queen snort. 

Instead, she walked toward the oaken door that Ser Arthur or the knight he shared his duty with must’ve closed, in the midst of her quarrel with Rhaegar. With a weary sigh, she opened it and was met with Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold. 

“You,” she said, pointing at Ser Gerold. “Fetch me a tankard of water.” Then she turned toward Ser Arthur. “And you, have the maids fetch a tub, but do so discreetly. I do not want anyone hearing of this mummer’s farce,” she grumbled. “If Queen Lyanna wonders where her drunkard of a husband went, tell her that he’ll tell the tale himself.” Still stricken with anger, she scolded both of the knights.

“How you imbeciles allowed him to go through with this farce is beyond me.”

“He is the king,” Ser Gerold said. “His commands are our duty.” 

“Are you not supposed to prevent others from harming him?” she inquired sharply. 

“We are-”

“-And pray tell, does the same rules not apply when it is him putting himself in danger?”

“Not explic-” Ser Gerold began but was shushed by Elia. 

“Oh, forgive me, Sers. Perhaps it was simply common sense. Now fetch me that tub and water.” Ser Gerold left and just as Elia was about to re-enter her chambers, Ser Arthur took hold of her arm, gently. 

“If he hurts you, then notify me and I will take care of him.” _You should have taken care of him before he got here_ , she thought bitterly. 

“Look at him,” she sneered, pointing at the unconscious man in the bed. “Does he look in a fit state to move, or hurt anyone for that matter?” Ser Arthur shook his head. 

“But if he-” 

“I can deal with my husband,” she replied coolly, “It is Rhaegar we are speaking of, not some fat, obnoxious and loud drunkard who drinks with his left hand and strikes with the right.” In all of their years together, at least the Dornishwoman could boast that she’d never been frightened of Rhaegar striking her. _He is not the kind._

Arthur nodded, his eyes lingering on her for a few moments before leaving to notify the maids to fetch and fill a tub. Ser Gerold returned with a tankard of water right as his companion left. 

“Thank you,” she murmured and closed the door, placing the tankard atop the table and filling a goblet with the clear liquid. 

Then she moved toward Rhaegar and shook him, yet he would not wake. An idea struck the queen, perhaps it was somewhat sadistic in nature but he did wake her and she was not pleased with him strolling into her chambers, reeking of wine, barely able to speak. He was heavy, but somehow she managed to drag him down to the floor, wincing when she dropped his head a little too hard on the ground. Sighing, she tried to inspect if there was any great damage done. _He’ll most like have a bruise there, come the morrow. I’ll let him believe that he was the one who caused it._

“What you do not know, will not hurt you,” she said, fetching the goblet with cooling water. 

Standing above him, she slowly tipped the goblet over and the ray of water struck him right in the face. _At least that gained a reaction,_ the Dornishwoman thought when he began coughing and sputtering. The sight did amuse her, she was not going to lie. The way his silver-gold hair clung to his forehead and how he looked utterly confused. 

“Elia,” he groaned, wiping his face. “What the fuck?” 

“You would not wake, My King,” she almost spat the last words out as if they were ash upon her tongue.

“Where am I?” he asked and Elia felt the urge to either throttle him or laugh. 

“In my chambers, you fool.” 

“Oh,” he leaned back down to the floor and she saw he was almost losing his consciousness again. _No, no, no you don’t,_ she thought . 

“Get up,” she hissed, trying to drag him to his feet. The man obliged but almost toppled over as he stood. 

“Wine,” he mumbled, spotting the tankard of water. Deciding to play along, for there was no way in the seven hells that she would grant him more wine, she filled the goblet and handed it to him. He drank deeply, seeming more confused, the more he consumed.

“That’s not very potent,” he frowned, stumbling and having to lean on Elia to remain upright.

“It is a vintage from the Arbor,” she lied easily, finding it quite amusing, nonetheless. Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders and finished the entire goblet. “Fair enough,” he slurred, refilling it again. 

“You are such an idiot, Rhaegar,” she murmured and he seemed to turn sadder, then. 

“I kn-know,” he stuttered, rapidly consuming the water he believed was wine, from the goblet. Then, he wiped his lips and leaned down, putting his head in the crook of her neck. “Mother was right,” he hiccupped, “Mother was right, you were right, everyone was right, but I.” That perplexed the Dornishwoman and she was just about to question him, when she felt him breathe in deeply in the crook of her neck. She stiffened and frowned in confusion. 

“You smell good,” his lips breathed against her neck and she wished the maids could hurry, so their strange interaction could cease. “I’ve missed the way you smell--it always brought me solace, a sense of peace.” _You ruined our peace,_ she thought. 

“And you reek, Rhaegar, of wine, sweat and regret,” she replied, carefully placing some of his silver-locks behind his ear, for they seemed to cling to his face uncomfortably. 

“I think,” he began, speaking to her neck rather than the Dornishwoman herself. “I think I drank too much,” the king finished and Elia rolled her eyes. 

“Do you now?” she asked, wryly. “What gave you that inclination?” 

“Tha-” he began, but the door opened and in scurried three maids, carrying a tub, scarcely daring to look upon Elia or Rhaegar. _I wonder what Arthur told them,_ she mused. 

Finally, after several turns of filling the tub with warm, almost scalding water, the maids departed, as if they’d never been in the first place. Elia pushed a suddenly quiet and melancholy Rhaegar down onto the bed and he plopped straight down, once again, to her frustration. 

“Please sit up, Rhaegar,” she told him. 

“Oh, right,” he frowned and clumsily sat up, touching her face with his hands as she worked on unlacing his red tunic. 

“You’re always so good to me,” he whispered, looking sad. “I do not deserve it.” 

“We may agree upon that, Rhaegar,” she replied. “Arms up.” He obliged, hiccupping, and then his naked chest was revealed. What a sight he was, drunk and fumbling like a boy of six-and-ten and not a king. _But so beautiful, the very incarnation of a Valyrian warrior… An intoxicated and stumbling one at that._

“Now you can lay down,” Elia told her husband, moving to unlace his breeches

“That feels pleasant,” he remarked as her hands were undoing the top of his laces and then dragging his breeches down his legs. The Dornishwoman snorted. 

“I am sure it does.” 

“Come on, now,” Elia mumbled, allowing a naked Rhaegar to lean on her as they made their way to the bathing room. She could see the steam rising from the water. _Yet the Targaryens burn hotter than regular men and he always liked his baths scalding._ At this point, the Dornish queen could not bring herself to care if the water burned him or not. 

“In you go,” she told him and helped him clumsily climb into the tub, accidentally slipping slightly, which resulted in her being splashed with scalding water. Her husband did not notice but his wife sure did. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, one, two, three-_

“Mm,” Rhaegar moaned as the soothing water surrounded him like the warmest quilt. 

“At least one of us is enjoying themselves,” the Dornishwoman grumbled irritatedly. 

“You cannot fall asleep!” she exclaimed when she saw the way his head was tilted back and his indigo eyes, closed. 

“I-I-I’m not asleep,” he mumbled and she shook her head, sighing. 

“I will be back,” she told him, wanting to fetch a chair from the sitting room, as it hurt her to stand for long amount of times and she could not bathe her husband whilst standing. _I should not have to bathe him, he is a man grown, not a babe in arms._ A crueler woman would have refused but Elia Martell was not cruel and her heart did not allow her to simply throw him away like dirt. _Why?_ She did not know. _He never considered me when he crowned Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty, nor when he ran away with her, as I was on death’s doorstep._

“Don’t leave me,” he said, so quietly, utter raw emotion seeping into the words, giving them a sorrowful life, all of their own. His wet arm grasped hers, gently anchoring her to him. ”Please.” His voice was pleading now, and she suspected that he was thinking of more than her simply walking into the adjacent room. _Yet who claims to know the mind of a drunk?_

“I’m retrieving a chair, Rhaegar.” her husband calmed at that, releasing her and leaning back. The oaken chair was quite heavy, but not too much for the Dornish queen. Finally, she reached the bathing room again and placed it by the edge of the tub, where the king’s back was to her front. 

“Let us wash this stink off of you,” Elia Martell murmured, reaching for one of the soaps that smelled of flowers. She poured some into her palm and began massaging it into her husband’s scalp, not caring anymore that his head was in her lap, wetting her silky shift. _I have others. Let us just get this overwith._

“I’m sorry,” he hiccupped, the wine still in his system. “I always hurt you. I try to love you but it ends up all wrong.” Rhaegar Targaryen sounded cross with himself, so angry and distressed. Elia knew naught of what to respond, so she remained silent. 

She heard him sniffle and for some reason it tore at her, for she was ever soft of nature. _I wish that I’d been born strong, as fervent and willful as befit a true Dornish princess._ Prince Oberyn oft said that his sister was a flower who came without thorns, now she pondered if it was not more of a curse. 

“Quiet now,” she told him as gently as she would soothe their children, washing the soap out of his silvery hair. 

“You are too good to me. You always were and I betrayed you. I betrayed our family.” 

“I will not lie and say that you didn’t Rhaegar. If you wish me to absolve you of this guilt, then you’ve come to the wrong person.” 

“N-n-no, I know,” he stuttered, tears streaming down his face, visible even in the water. “This is a guilt I’ll carry to my grave.” _We all have our scars to hold._ The Dornishwoman did not reply, but simply took hold of a cloth and poured some of the scented soap on it. 

“Lean back,” she beckoned him softly her and he did, his glazed eyes gazing upon her as his head laid in her lap. With deft hands, she began stroking down his neck and chest, Rhaegar closing his eyes as if for those brief moments, he was content. She continued her ministrations until her husband stopped her hands by his chest and held it there, breathing softly.

“It soothes me. You calm me but I do not deserve to be calm, do I?” He asked through closed eyes and full lips.

“No king does,” she replied. “That is the price that the heavy crown demands. And the one you must pay.”

“The Gods know I deserve it,” he whispered, his face contorting into something akin to pain. 

Her fingers itched to stroke his cheek, to drag her fingers across the side of his jaw, ever so softly. _No one wishes to see a fellow being in pain, especially if your cursed heart still bears affection for them_. Yet she did not do it, for however much her heart bled, there was an inkling of pride that prevented her from finding solace in his arms. A part of her that could not bend or break for the Dragon-King. She was so close, so very close to doing so, though. The Dornishwoman told her heart to stop its incessant pleading, but the mind and heart are two different things that rarely work in tandem with each other. Her anger still brewed beneath the surface, yet her need to be touched and to feel the comfort of a man, seemed to clash with it. He was all she had, unlike him; she could not take a paramour or a second husband, unless she wished to pay the price with her head. 

“You look beautiful,” the silver-haired man muttered and Elia met his indigo eyes that seemed to be burning, with pain, with anguish, with love and burdens. She could not quite put her finger on what it was. “You always do and I ruin it. All I seem to do is make you sad and angry and I don’t mean to.” Something about having a king drunkenly ramble apologies, as he was being bathed by his wife, was morbidly amusing to the queen, yet so horribly sad. A quiet and solemn man, she knew that Rhaegar found it hard to express such matters sober and he always seemed to say the wrong things to his Dornish wife. 

“If I was so beautiful and lovely as you say, then why did you cause all this strife, grief and pain? Westeros is full of ghosts now, some kind and some sad. Some angry and some vindictive. We were going to die, Rhaegar. Possibly Aegon, then Rhaenys and I-- and for that, I cannot ever forgive you.” The words seemed to pour out of Elia by default, though they were safe now, no one can even begin to fathom the pain of giving one child to death, and the other to life. Or the horror of a madman threatening your children and keeping you hostage for the loyalty of a family, that you had not laid eyes upon in years. A foggy cloud seemed to cloud his eyes, then.

“Because I was a madman trailing after prophecies of salt and smoke,” he whispered, ever so gently. “And now I do not know what to do.” How child-like the king sounded in that moment, as if he was a young boy who had overreached, overdone himself and now needed help, to fathom what in the Gods’ names that he was to do. 

“Your mother told me that she said you were destructive.” Rhaegar nodded, seeming to recall slivers of the moment. “And that it would lead to your ruin, one day.”

“It did,” he smiled, ever so sadly. “But I am afraid that it was not only my ruin and for that, I shall forever feel the guilt and shame.” Elia nodded and realised that his water had turned lukewarm somewhere in the midst. Thusly, she rose to fetch him the towel laid out by the maids, of black and red cotton. _He seems to have sobered up, slightly at the least. Enough to walk back to his chambers,_ she mused. 

“Let us get you dry,” the Dornish queen murmured to her husband who had sat up in the tub. Mutely, he rose, droplets of water dripping down his pale skin like beads of the purest crystal. The silver-gold hair tumbled beneath his broad shoulders and she was close enough to see the strands of silver-gold that were sparsely covering his chest. Elia reached a hand out to help him disembark from the tub and had to stand on her toes to place the large towel around his neck. 

“Sit down,” she beckoned him, pointing at the chair as she fetched the smaller towel for his hair. 

In the light of the bathing room, the king’s eyes looked more purple than blue and as guileless as she had ever seen them. Elia dried his hair gently, feeling the soft, silky texture beneath her fingers, on the occasion. At first his eyes were on hers, but then when she was almost done, the queen looked at him and saw that he was staring straight ahead with unfocused eyes, which happened to be where her bosom was. _Had I been two years younger, I might have blushed but I am too tired and too old for such childish antics, that girl within me perished long ago._ Queen Elia sighed but her husband seemed too lost within himself, or her cleavage to hear it. _Men will remain men,_ she thought. _Unless you cut off their cocks._

She continued to pat him, moving down his body until she deemed him dry enough. 

“Rhaegar,” Elia softly spoke and gained the attention of her husband, who looked up with large eyes, waiting for her command. “Follow me into the bedchamber, we must needs dress you.” He nodded, the towel still around him and they began to walk into the adjacent chamber. Halfway there, she felt something large and warm embrace her hand and noticed it was Rhaegar’s hand. Elia did not remove it, but let it stay and warm her. 

She sniffed his linen shirt and wrinkled her nose, deciding that it needed a washing and discarded it onto the floor. 

“You breeches will have to do,” she told him, handing them to him and gazing expectantly. Sheepishly, Rhaegar began to don the black garment, yet his fumbling fingers that could not quite stop shaking, prohibited him from properly lacing them. Elia sighed, and removed his hands, deftly lacing them as he leaned back on the bed, silver-hair spilling atop the cushions, clashing vividly betwixt the red, orange and black. 

She clapped his thigh gently to regain his attention. 

“It is time for you to leave,” she told him. That caused the king to frown. 

“No,” the man shook his head, “I do not want to,” he continued, mumbling into a pillow that he was embracing, “Please, I wish to stay… I miss you.” 

_You should have thought of that before you caused all this tragedy._ “No, Rhaegar. You must leave,” she repeated, trying to drag him to his feet but he was like an oaken tree and she was no match for him. After he utterly refused to depart, she sighed and moved to the tankard of wine on the table, herself. _To calm myself,_ she argued and finished the goblet of Arbor Gold in two gulps. 

“Get off the covers, not all of us are Targaryens who burn hotter than a brazier.” That made her husband giggle drunkenly, but he did as she bid and Elia climbed underneath the covers, Rhaegar turned toward her, his bare chest and hair seeming ever paler in the light of the moon. 

“Why did you drink so much?” she asked, frowning sadly. Her husband turned even sadder then, if it was even possible.

“Because I am sticky with shame and guilt, because I was wrong and now I do not know what to do,” he whispered, closing his eyes as if in pain. “Because I love her but she was not meant to be a queen-- Because I love you and you were meant for it. Because sometimes I look upon Aegon and Rhaenys and wish to fall upon my own sword, for ever putting them in harm’s way.” King Rhaegar frowned harder. “I made such a mess of things, and now we are all torn and bleeding.” He reached out and stroked her cheek with a gentle hand. 

“You did it and there is no undoing it, all you can do is live with it.” The Dornishwoman’s voice was strangely even for someone whose heart is contradictory at best and cannot make up its mind. 

The Dornish queen stared at her husband, suddenly aware of his face that was mere inches from hers. _Rhaegar is no monster,_ she found herself thinking. _It would have been so much simpler to despise him, if he’d been._

“I will try to fix this,” he vowed and she shook her head, sadly. 

“First you must mend yourself,” Elia began. “And it will not happen through drinking yourself into a stupor. The man nodded drunkenly. 

“I hurt you again.” Rhaegar brushed a few stray, brown locks away from her eyes, staring intently at her. 

“You did,” she sighed. For the man had, on numerous occasions. He peered at her through his lashes and slowly inched closer to her face with his own. Elia only realised he was to kiss her, when his soft lips were on hers. She wished to stop it, she truly did but mayhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was her aching heart, but the Dornishwoman found herself responding to his tender kiss-- Even reaching out to cup his face with one of her hands. He still tasted the same, the way he always had. 

There was no urgency to his lips on hers, it was delicate and sweet in the most absurd way. The way his groan stayed in the back of his throat, her soft sighs and mewls. His tongue moved lazily and the Dornishwoman found herself enjoying the slow pace, the way he was just Rhaegar again, in that moment. _He is just Rhaegar, not Rhaegar who betrayed me, not Rhaegar who left us, not the king-- he just is. And to be is to be._ Gently, the Dornish queen bit his lip and he smiled, deepening the kiss further, none of them stopping until they were out of breath, and more importantly; this was no time for weary words. She just wanted to feel again and wagered he wished to do the same. 

His soft lips moved from her mouth, to the side of her jaw, down her neck and Elia moved closer to him, grasping his soft, supple hair in her hand, feeling Rhaegar move to lay on top of her. 

“No,” she gasped, feeling his lips reach down her neck, to the swell of her breasts. “We shouldn’t,” she whimpered but who was the Dornishwoman trying to convince? _My mind or my body?_

“I hurt you, so many times,” he murmured between kisses. “Let me love you, this once.” His indigo eyes burned through her as she gazed into them. “I am yours.” _Only for the night,_ she thought. _You won’t ever be mine, but do continue telling your sweet lies. If I was as old and gullible as that wolf-girl is, I may even have believed them._

“You deserve to be loved,” Rhaegar mumbled, each word filled with equal parts of melancholy and warmth, desperation and longing, even. However, Elia was no fool. King Rhaegar’s love was fleeting, always moving like a beautiful butterfly that none could capture. It never failed to make her feel wonderful, yet oh, so defeated when it inevitably departed. He did not belong to her and she would never forgive him for the pain and grief he caused her… yet if she numbed her mind and thought of his lips on her body, the warmth in his tender touch, then none of the horrid reality could touch them. He could simply be a comely man in her bed, with hair like the Dragonlords of old.  _ He will not remember this in the morning,  _ she comforted herself by thinking, offering it to her mind as reasoning. For now she would let her body feel, after so long of desolation and despair. Desire is a wicked thing and it waits for no one, all it does is crave and crave.

Sloppily, the king kissed down her body, hiking her shift up higher, caressing and kissing the skin he exposed. Yet somehow it was endearing, the kind of fumbling that one expected in their youth, _ when all was brighter and summers raged on forever. When kisses were sweet as the ripest peach and life was not yet so complicated. _ Elia grasped his silvery hair fiercely as he reached her thighs and left his scorching kisses, whilst his delicate fingers played her more elegantly than the harp. Her cries of ecstasy only seemed to urge her king on further, until she was naught but whimpering mess trying to catch her breath. Elia thought his name but she did not speak it, for speaking would breathe whatever happened between them into reality and existence and she was not quite ready for that.  _ Reality is cruel, at the best of times.  _

A shyness seemed to cover the king when he moved to lay on his side, beside her. 

“Did it please you?” he asked and she felt a hopelessness cling to her. 

“Too much,” she exhaled, thinking of how she should not have allowed for that to happen. The pleasurable high was soon met by a crushing low.  _ This was foolish of me-- Of us. _ Rhaegar seemed unaware of her internal strife and kissed her temple sweetly, unfurling the sad frown that claimed it, previously. Her husband then placed the silken cover atop them and moved to embrace his wife, turning her around and dragging her close to him, placing his leg over her hip.  _ He is enticed, _ she noted, but he made no move to bed or ask for her to reciprocate his touches. 

Elia sighed and breathed in deeply when she felt his hand hiking up her thin shift and reaching underneath to stroke the bare skin on her belly, gently inching upward to fondle her breasts. His breaths were hot on her neck and his caresses did not cease until he fell asleep, the breathing evening and his hand falling limp underneath her shift. The consequences would have to wait until the next day, for now she was tired and spent.  _ I can be Queen Elia in the morn, but now; I was simply a woman and he was only a man-- Just as the Gods fashioned us to be. _ Some would surely have berated the queen for allowing her husband’s touches but the heart is an ever delicate thing, and all men crave love. As Elia craved the comfort it brought upon. 

_ Dawn will wash away these sins, _ she thought before falling asleep.  _ Or the remnants of this eve, whatever one would choose to call it. _

_ It must.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might change the title of the chapter, don't know yet. 
> 
> EDIT: I see some of y'all commenting that you're not happy Elia "forgave" Rhaegar but that is not what happened, and it is stated several times throughout the chapter and alluded to very much in the end, that what happened between them was not her forgiving him. Every time he uttered his apologies, she shut him down or did not reply, her kindness is not absolvement or forgiveness. 
> 
> It was more of an action performed in the cover of night, where the edges of reality are somewhat blurred and they were at their most vulnerable. A mistake, to be sure, but a sweet one nonetheless, that brought both a comfort that only they could deliver. Messy explanation but i'm tired af
> 
> Beware: I finished this late af and haven't edited it, so forgive me for any mistakes.


	8. Break it if I tried convey it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lord Varys,” she murmured. “Though I assume to be in his good graces, one mistep can bring upon catastrophe.” Arthur nodded.  
> “You were always cleverer than me.”  
> “If one does not learn the rules of the game, then they are forever doomed to lose.” Arthur agreed but the sadness in his eyes remained. This will be a mercy for the both of us. To let go. One day, you will understand. One day, we will be grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, welcome back to another sudden update. 
> 
> This chapter is about kind of healing, accepting and moving on, because you can't stay in the past and those feelings we can't quite name but they haunt us, nonetheless. 
> 
> The next will be the last where we'll see Oberyn and co for a while and then I am thinking there will be a time jump, but I haven't really mapped out what I want to do yet, so that they work with where I want to take the story. 
> 
> Thanks for all your comments, I love reading them and seeing your take on certain events <3
> 
> Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed the story and don't forget to comment down below :)
> 
> until next time 
> 
> <3
> 
> P.s: it hasn't been edited, so please forgive me for any mistakes.

The sun was barely up in the sky, when Elia woke. At first, she felt the pleasant daze of a calm sleep and stretched her body with a feline grace. The feeling of the released tension almost made her groan but then she noted that there was something warm around her and felt hot breaths tickle the back of her neck. That caused the Dornishwoman to frown, opening her eyes and gently turning around, simply to be faced by her husband’s sleeping form. 

She was so close that she could notice the flecks of gold and silver in his eyebrows, able to count his individual, long and dark lashes that spilled across the top of his pale cheeks. Well, one of the cheeks were slightly discolored, all courtesy of the Dowager Queen. Suddenly, the memories of the night washed over her, unwelcome and so vivid that they caused her to close her eyes, as if in pain.  _ How foolish could he have been? How foolish could I have been?  _

_ What in the Gods’ names do I do now? _ Last night was one long and big drunken mistake,  _ mostly on Rhaegar’s part but I indulged his behavior and it was wrong of me. _ Could anyone fault the Dornishwoman? She was a nurturer and soft of nature, of course she was angry but something inside forbade her from tossing him aside to be someone else’s burden.  _ The Gods know I would have been happier for it. _ His silvery hair was tousled and his pink lips looked to be pouting, there was a strange glow about him.  _ He looks younger and less troubled, innocent, almost.  _

He’d rambled his sweet apologies the previous night, proclaimed his love for her and the deep regret that he harbored for his actions.  _ He said that Lyanna was not meant to be a queen,  _ she remembered, _ then why did he make her one? _ Elia knew that Rhaegar was grieving, she could see it in his eyes, the melancholic demeanor of his body, yet Queen-mother Rhaella’s words came to her, like a tide. _ Does he hurt more than us? Does he grieve more than us?  _

_ Something brought him to drink himself into oblivion. Was it his mother’s harsh words, the truth and consequences of his rash actions, did it finally make him see? _ Yet, Elia would not deign herself to murmur sweet words and try to alleviate his pain.  _ That part of me burned away. _ She was sure that the Queen Lyanna would murmur false excuses for their actions, when it hurt to much to see the results of them.  _ The crow telling the raven that they are not black.  _

Elia gazed at King Rhaegar, thinking of what to do. What was there for her to say?  _ He will most like deny his words, like all men do, and say that it was the wine speaking. Yet does not ale and wine bring out the truths in us? The secrets we wish to hide, deep and dark and underneath, in a place where they cannot hurt us any longer. _ And selfishly… The Dornish queen did not feel like acknowledging the sins of the night, those which dawn washed away, until they became little more than sweat and regret. 

For if she did stay until he woke, then he would surely take in her appearance beside him, in her bed, their limbs entwined and puzzle together the pieces that she had stayed and cared for him.  _ I do not want him to think that my foolish, weak heart was forgiveness. That it would mean that I would be something akin to his again… _ The Queen wanted to avoid the confrontation that would come with acknowledging the previous night--  _ There is no coming back from this otherwise.  _

Carefully, she moved to rise, for she did not wish to be there when he woke. Rhaegar made a soft sound and moved to stretch his long, pale body. That made the Dornishwoman wince and mutter a prayer for him to please, not wake up, under her breath. The silken cover slipped from his body slightly and she could see the jut of his hip and the smooth, flawless skin below, where his breeches hung low. Elia was not a saint, nor a god-- she was human and with those, come flaws.  _ I’d be lying if I said the sight was not enticing. _ Yet her unwillingness to confront and explain last eve, to a man who frankly, did not deserve it, prevented her from acting on her sinful urges. That and her pride. Deep in her heart, the anger still remained, ready to appear at any instance it deemed apt. 

Quickly, Elia grabbed a long, orange robe of satin, hanging atop one of the chairs in the sitting room and quickly moved into the washing room.  _ The maids were here to remove the tub, _ she noted and hastily moved to wash her face in the basin of rosewater, also running a brush through her long, dark hair. When she deemed it to be the most presentable that she could appear for the morn, she patted her face dry with one of the towels, donned a pair of slippers and promptly, got the hell out of her chambers before the dragon would wake.  _ A dragon in pain, _ she thought with wry amusement.  _ Consuming so much wine never goes unpunished.  _

After quietly opening the door to her chamber, wincing as it made a creek, she snuck out to the side beyond that heavy, wooden door and was met by Ser Arthur. There was no doubt in her mind that the reason he was alone, was because no one needed to be by his side.  _ He is the most skilled and deadly out of all the kingsguard. _ That reminded Elia of a wry comment Ser Jaime once spoke.  _ He said that Arthur could battle half a dozen men with his left hand, all the while taking a piss with the right-- And they still would be no match for him. _ The knight looked at her apprehensively, raising a silvery brow when he noted her secretive moves. 

“Ser Arthur,” she greeted, his incompetence for last night, still fresh on her mind. 

“My Queen,” he replied softly, gazing at her with liquid pools of violet, framed by dark lashes. His look turned queer after a few moments, however and it unsettled her in a way.  _ He’s not looked at me that way since we were children playing at being grown.  _

“What?” she asked, wariness lacing her tone. His eyes lingered on the parts of her shoulder that the robe left bare, before clearing his throat and turning back to her eyes, seeming more melancholy then.  _ Gods, _ she thought angrily, feeling drained.  _ Is everyone just sad now? All the time? Why do I make all of you so weary, it’s tiring, give it a rest! _ Ser Arthur did not respond, so she took it upon herself to look at where his eyes were last, herself.  _ Do I have something on my shoulder? _ She wondered idly, turning her head to get a better view, that’s when she noticed it. 

The mark was red, tinged with purple and the shame of the night before.  _ Oh no, _ she thought, muttering a curse at the gods. 

“Fuck,” she grumbled, wrapping the robe fully around her and tying it with the sash and moving parts of her hair to her front, in an attempt to shield whatever skin remained on show. When Queen Elia turned her eyes upon her childhood lover, she noted that he looked like a dog who’d been kicked by its master.  _ Stop it,  _ she thought.  _ We were done and overwith long ago, when you decided to take duty for a wife and I was handed the Dragon-Prince.  _

“Were there more?” she asked, anxiously wondering how she was going to dress to cover them. The knight nodded, looking around before he reached an arm out to trace what she assumed was the marks left behind, by Rhaegar, with a queer look in his eyes. His touch was soft and there was something so hopeless about it. 

“He did not… He did not hurt me like  _ that _ , Arthur,” she mumbled, peering at him through her dark lashes, for the thought struck her that mayhaps he thought he was seeing Aerys in the marks.  _ That is not the case, _ even the Dornishwoman could admit. 

“That used to be me,” he said, ever so softly, almost as if he was speaking to himself.  _ Now it is your dearest friend, how things have changed. But you willed them so, spare me the hurt-- I do not want to feel the guilt for your choices, anymore.  _

“Not any longer, Arthur,” she replied. “Not for years.” 

“I know. That does not mean that I ever stopped thinking of it.” 

“Do not look at me like that,” she told him, her voice hoarse. “It was  _ you  _ who joined the kingsguard, it was  _ you  _ who ruined whatever we had. All that remains is a dusty volume of what we were and  _ could  _ have been.” 

“Your mother would never have let us wed,” the knight replied dejectedly. “She aspired far more for her princess. The second son of a vassal house would never have been enough for Loreza Martell’s daughter, no matter if he wielded Dawn or not.” 

“It would have been enough for me, for the girl I  _ was _ .” Elia swallowed and continued. “We dreamt of fleeing to Lys, Tyrosh or Volantis. Oberyn would have helped us. Foolish dreams, yes, but the girl I was, would have done it in a heartbeat. For you, her precious knight.” His finger trailed down her collarbone, making shivers erupt on her bare arms. 

“It does sound wonderful looking back,” he replied wistfully. “Perhaps we would have been happier for it.”  _ Yes, but it was what could have been, not what came to be. Reality is cruel and we were playing at the game of love and duty, like a drunkard rolling dice.  _

It was more than early, which meant that no one was wandering the halls, be they servants, lord or ladies. The way which Ser Arthur stood in front of Elia, shielded her from onlookers, as he was taller and larger than her. It allowed for his treasonous touches to remain unseen. 

“You joined the kingsguard, Arthur. You made your choice,” she said, shaking her head sadly and wishing for these incessant feelings she harbored for those paramount men in her life, could go away. It is not that the queen was in love with either, but she had loved them once and the remnants of that affection would never truly leave her-- Pieces of that love would never take its leave.  _ Maybe I am cursed, she thought, _ dejectedly. 

“I joined because father was making arrangements for my betrothal and I had no wish to be wed to anyone but you. Only the fucking Maiden could have replaced you, in my eyes, Elia-- so I vowed to not know another woman, to only feel the cold weight of duty next to me in bed whose kisses would leave me bleeding, yet never coming close to making me feel the way that you did,” he whispered, closing his eyes and frowning. “I will never forgive myself for letting you go.” 

“And falling into the arms of your closest friend,” the Dornishwoman said, her voice surprisingly even. “There is naught left for you and I to do, we are a closed chapter now.” 

“Me being a knight of the kingsguard never meant that I stopped loving you.” His large hand was on her shoulder, his thumb dangerously close to the swell of her breast, softly moving in half-circles.  _ Oh, my sweet, lost boy. Why don’t you see? Why do neither of you SEE?  _

“And would you break your vows for that love? The way you did for the wolf-girl?” she breathed and he grew rigid, but nodded nonetheless. “Would you fuck me, fast and hard with my drunk husband snoring in the bed behind us? Your dearest friend,” she challenged and sensed his internal strife, the longing in his eyes palpable. It was cruel, Elia knew.

“Of course you would not.” The Dornishwoman turned to gaze at him with pity in her eyes. “He remains your friend, as I remain a figment of your past-- An ode to help you sleep.” A sort of clarity seemed to wash upon him then. 

“I would do anything you ordered me to.” His statement angered her in a way. Y _ ou did everything for Rhaegar, and here you stand; essentially saying that you would betray yet another vow, that you would fuck me-- But only if I ordered you to. _

“You would fuck me, if I  _ ordered  _ you to?” she hissed and the man seemed to realise what it was, that he had said. “Doesn’t that just warm the heart?” she sneered.

“I-” he began but she cut him off, whispering harshly. 

“First of all; that would have meant both of our heads and I am not wanton, young or stupid enough for such foolery.” The Dornishwoman moved to stand on her toes, and grabbing the knight’s cock through the fabric, speaking savagely into his ear. _ It was those incessant things that had gotten them into this entire mess, in the first place, anyway. _ Ser Arthur’s entire demeanor grew rigid and he let out a shaky breath as she squeezed harshly. “You and my husband are both full of apologies, of sweet words and vows to protect and rebuild. I will believe it when I see it.” 

“H-” Arthur grunted but she shushed him. 

“Lastly, I do not care if you think of me during the cold nights in your bed, if you fuck yourself to the image of me on top of you. Allow the memories to warm you, for the Gods know that I never will, ever again. These incessant pleas and wounded looks will have to stop, Arthur,” she whispered and her last words were spoken almost soothingly, in contrast to the harsh sounds of the earlier ones. It hurt her to do this, in some strange way. It was as if she was killing a part of herself that may hurt in the moment, to save her life in the end.  _ We were never to be, if I shall ever be free, then both of us must let go- If one clings to it, then so does the other.  _

“It hurts,” he sighed. “I love you.” His hand was still on her shoulder and he was hard in her grasp, but she let go and exhaled shakily. 

“Oh, Arthur,” she said, ever so sadly. “You loved what I  _ was  _ but it is not who I  _ am _ . The Princess of Dorne is dead. She died the day you helped her prince of a husband escape with a girl, barely old enough to be a woman. Bury her, for all that remains is her sad ghost.” He looked wounded and it tore at Elia but she knew that this had to be done. 

The Dornish queen idly wondered how long they had been standing there. _ It feels like forever. As if time decided to stand still and haunt us with her never-ending presence.  _

“Please, Arthur, for me. For us.” A tear escaped those violet eyes, then but Elia wiped it away, as she would do for her young daughter. She would have wished to weep, as well, but she knew that she could not.  _ I have to be strong for the both of us. To not allow him doubts. _

“Tell me that you do not hate me,” he whispered brokenly, “Just tell me. I do not care if it’s a lie.”  _ He thinks I despise him? No, my sweet boy, I don’t.  _

“I do not hate you, Arthur,” Elia said truthfully. “I could never.” 

“I will still be here for you,” he murmured, craning his head down to look at her, his violet eyes hauntingly clear. “Whenever you need. For whatever you need.” 

“I know,” she said. 

“Can I just…?” he asked, not being able to finish the words. “Just one last time,” Ser Arthur mumbled, his face the epitome of anguish. She knew what he was asking.  _ A kiss of goodbye, a soft remainder of what we shared but have to kill. It is not like i’m fucking him, the way Rhaegar did Lyanna, the way he does, Lyanna. _ She needed to lay this incessant ghost to rest, to bury it beneath the earth and dirt. To allow it peace, or it would never set them free. 

Elia looked around, trying to spot anyone in the hall.  _ If Varys has his birds out and hears of this, then we are both lost. _ She spotted the door to an empty chamber, ajar. The one originally meant for Prince Oberyn, yet it was discovered that some tapestry had rotted, which had to be immediately fixed. Her brother would not have cared, but Rhaegar had decreed that Prince Oberyn was to be treated most lavishly during his stay, and could not spend his nights within a room full of rotted wallpaper. 

“Ser Arthur,” she said, loudly, hoping she would not wake Rhaegar, yet there was small chance of that, for he was a heavy sleeper and Elia wished that the oaken door would shield them, somewhat. “I think I misplaced my necklace in that chamber. It would be a pity if it was to be lost, will you help find it? It will be quicker if two are searching.” The knight seemed confused for a few moments, but when he saw her wary eyes, the man nodded. 

“Of course, My Queen.” Quickly, they walked into the chamber, Arthur gently closing it behind them. 

“Lord Varys,” she murmured. “Though I assume to be in his good graces, one mistep can bring upon catastrophe.” Arthur nodded. 

“You were always cleverer than me.” 

“If one does not learn the rules of the game, then they are forever doomed to lose.” Arthur agreed but the sadness in his eyes remained.  _ This will be a mercy for the both of us. To let go. One day, you will understand. One day, we will be grateful. _

She touched his face, the tanned skin, so similar to hers and looked at him for a few moments, his tongue darting out to lick the bottom of his lip, before biting it softly. 

“One last time,” she told him. “A goodbye, not a start of something new.” The violet pools brimmed with tears, shining like purple crystals. 

“One last time,” he concurred.  _ Our first kiss in almost a decade. _ The beginning of an immediate end. 

The Dornishwoman cupped his cheeks and stood on her toes, leaning in, to kiss the ghost of her past. His lips were soft, molding against hers and it felt so perfect that it almost seemed like a fever dream. When she felt him against her, she gasped and felt his tongue invade her mouth.  _ He does not sound like Rhaegar, _ she found herself thinking.  _ He sounds like he used to, as if he’s found his salvation. _ Suddenly, the kiss seemed to turn more passionate and fervent, and the knight took hold of her thighs, pushing her against the wall-- making Elia wrap her legs around his waist. 

His hands were everywhere, but so were hers.She felt the hilt of Dawn chafe beneath her thigh but could not bring herself to care. They were a mess of tangled limbs and sorrow, Elia even thought she could feel the salty taste of his tears against her lips. His fingers touched her behind, as the lips moved onto her neck, she knew she needed to stop, but it felt so good. However, when she felt him cup her breasts through her shift, she knew that the show was over and needed its finale. 

“Arthur, stop,” she whispered, his silver-gold head, still in the crook of her neck. “It is time.” The knight heard her and seized immediately, gently lowering her to the floor. 

“Anything you order me to, I was not lying.”  _ At least he held true to that. I told him to cease, and he did. _ Elia looked at his face, to see if anything hinted at something more happened as they were inside that chamber.  _ His cheeks are flushed, _ she noted  _ and his lips are redder. _ The Dornish queen looked down and touched him, noting that he was still hard but his garments would cover that until it subsided. 

Elia smoothed out her shift, once again tying the robe around her and tried to tame her hair. 

“What happened here, Arthur?” she asked, reaching out to smooth his hair out, as well. 

“Nothing. I helped you search for a necklace,” the knight replied and she smiled sadly.

“Yes, you did. But we could not find it and it is lost forever now. All I have are the memories of it.” She opened the door to the chamber and walked him back to his post. 

“Yes,” Ser Arthur replied dejectedly. “It is gone and I am sorry that I could not help you find it earlier.”

“It is life. We lose things and gain new ones, my choice to place it there, led to the loss of it. We must needs make due with it.” 

“As you say, My Queen.” He turned to her, smiling delicately. “It was a beautiful necklace, I saw it once.” 

“It was. Truly one of a kind,” she allowed. “But it is gone and I have to don my other ones, instead.” 

“I will be visiting my brother now,” Elia told the knight. “But you will not tell the king that,” she continued in a whisper. Arthur nodded, asking her what he should say, were he to be asked. 

“Tell him that I did not tell you, even if you asked.” The knight seemed uncomfortable with the act of putting the blame on the queen. “It is alright, Arthur. I know how to deal with my husband.” 

“Goodbye, Ser,” she told him, half-smiling. 

“Goodbye, My Queen,” he replied, bleakly but trying to smile.  _ We did it,  _ she thought. _ I did it. I set us free.  _

The walk to Oberyn’s chambers felt dismal but also strangely light, as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.  _ We were an infectious wound, it would only have further damaged us in the end. _ When she arrived, she was met by two Dornishmen guarding the chambers. 

“My Queen,” they both said, their voices tinged with the Dornish drawl, giving her a sense of home. 

“I am here to see my brother,” Elia said, softly. 

“Should we call for him?” one of them asked the other, unsurely. The Dornishwoman waved their concerns aside. 

“There is no need,” she replied. “I can enter, myself.” They nodded and Queen Elia sent a half-prayer up to the gods, asking that her brother and his paramours please be dressed. 

They opened the door for her and she stepped in, the sun glaring more fiercely than it had when she woke up. She looked around and found that she was in the sitting room, so the Dornish queen decided to walk into the bedchamber, where they would surely be sleeping peacefully. _ I do not wish to bother them,  _ she thought. _ I am being weak and annoying. _ Yet her heart felt young and she wished to be soothed by her brother. To sleep surrounded by people who had not betrayed nor condemned her. 

Softly, her feet padded across the oaken floor and she spotted the bed-- a large thing, made out of wood, with an orange canopy and three sleeping forms in it. Elia felt like a child again, walking into Doran or Oberyn’s chambers after a nightmare.  _ They would always hold me and tell me it was alright, _ she reminisced fondly.  _ They never sent me away, even Doran who was ten years older than I. _ Thankfully, she noted that all of the occupants of the great wooden bed were dressed. Ellaria was in a nightgown, not unlike Elia’s herself, _ but hers is a pale pink.  _ She could distinguish Lyro’s flaxen hair and sharp jaw anywhere, and he was laying in cropped, blue pants of linen, whilst Oberyn donned red ones. 

The Dornish queen moved to her brother’s side, crouching down and touching his shoulder, gently. It did not take him long to wake, his reflexes were quick and the movements seemed to be almost innate. Brown eyes met hers, the same eyes. 

“Elia?” he asked, confusion lacing the word. His sister nodded, feeling the strange urge to weep.  _ Can I stop being such an emotional, blathering cow? _ Perhaps last night and the morning’s events had taken more of a toll on the Dornishwoman, than she cared to confess.  _ I just want to be someone’s sister, not the queen. I just want to rest for a little.  _

“What is it?” he asked worriedly, sitting up and seeing the tears brimming in her eyes. She forced them down and tried to smile. 

“Nothing.” The Dornishwoman shook her head. “Can I sleep with you?” she asked, instead. The Viper of Dorne’s eyes turned tender then and he reached a hand out to cup her cheek.

“Of course.” Then he kissed the top of her head and she climbed in beside him, with Ellaria next to her. The woman seemed to have stirred because of the commotion and opened her soft, green eyes. 

“Elia?” the bastard of Hellholt murmured. Oberyn stroked his sister’s hair and reached out to touch Ellaria’s shoulder. 

“It is fine. Let her sleep.” The woman nodded, embracing her paramour’s sister but Elia felt rude for stealing her brother away like that. Even though both would surely assure her that it was of no consequence and that Prince Oberyn hadn’t seen his sister in years, but saw Ellaria and Lyro each day. 

“We can exchange places if you wish to lay beside my brother.” Her voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper. 

“No,” Ellaria shook her head. “It is fine.” 

“I insist,” Elia replied, smiling softly. She envied her brother’s love that seemed so very uncomplicated. Ellaria gazed at the queen, searching for further confirmation, which the Dornish queen granted. Gracefully, the queen moved over Ellaria, to Lyro’s side, where he was sleeping, breathing evenly.  _ His hair has light streaks of gold in it, _ now that she looked closely. 

Oberyn wrapped an arm around his paramour, but rested it on Elia’s shoulder, as if to show he was there if she needed. Ellaria’s arm was around Elia’s waist and she felt strangely content, wishing her slumber would wash away the aching thoughts in her mind. That was when the Lyseni seemed to wake and stared at her with confusion, through pale, blue eyes covered by brown eyelashes, a shade darker than his own hair. 

“Elia?” he asked and it almost made the Dornish queen giggle.  _ It is the third time someone has asked me that, in the span of minutes.  _

“Lyro,” she greeted in a whisper but he frowned. 

“What happened?” he asked, concerned and she shook her head. It seemed like Lyro simply understood her, where others failed. As if they shared some secret understanding, unbeknownst to anyone else. 

“Too much. A long story, for another time and place. Let us sleep, for now.” The man reached a hand out to stroke her cheek, his eyes trailing toward the slight exposed skin on her neck, bearing proof of her sins. _ Of Rhaegar’s sins. Of Arthur’s sins.  _

“Alright,” the man said after some time, his eyes conveying a sort of gentle comprehension. The Lyseni saw but he understood and Elia knew that he would remain silent on the matter, unless explicitly given permission to broach it.  _ We were both taught to be meek, _ she realised and it saddened her heart to no end. 

Then, Lyro moved closer to Elia, embracing her and kissing her cheek. 

“The storm will pass, I promise. So will the tears,” he whispered, his pale eyes soft. It was spoken so quietly that she almost did not hear him. The Dornishwoman smiled, closing her eyes and rejoicing in the relief that his arms around her brought. The way that it all seemed so calm.  _ An illusion, _ she knew but a sweet one, nonetheless and what a comfort it brought upon.

Soon enough, his breaths evened out and she knew that he was asleep, the Dornish queen was on the cusp of slumber, as well, and it was only then she realised how fond she’d grown of both Ellaria and Lyro. They both understood her, but in different ways. Lyro knew what it was like to be uncertain, to doubt people’s love for you. It was why he resonated so much with the young queen, for they were so alike in some ways.  _ He fears that my brother and Ellaria may one day decide they are finished with him, I know. Like I doubt every smiling face I see at court. The way I doubt Rhaegar’s heart. His past is complicated and so is mine, shrouded with tragedy that we both try to hide. _ Though she wagered that Lyro’s past was infinitely more troubled than her own and she would not compare the two, or minimize his suffering for her mummer’s farce of a life. 

The next time she woke, the Lyseni’s arms were still around her, but Oberyn and Ellaria were nowhere to be found. 

“They went to fetch the children,” Lyro mumbled sleepily, looking at her through his lashes. “I heard Oberyn say that they would bring you comfort. He sounded worried,” the man continued. That made her heart drop. _ I do not want to concern him, _ she thought, exasperated at herself. 

“He should not worry, it is nothing,” she replied but Lyro shook his head. 

“It  _ is  _ something and it is weighing you down. Oberyn is your brother, of course he worries.” 

“I did a bad thing,” she whispered and he smiled. 

“How bad of a thing can it be, coming from you? The gentle flower.”  _ I’ve grown thorns since Rhaegar returned. Small, pitiful things but thorns, nonetheless.  _

“You saw.” He did, but his eyes seemed to turn somber as he heard her words. Lightly, the Lyseni brushed some brown hair behind her ears and spoke. 

“No one has the right to judge you for that. It is not a crime to let go and simply feel.” 

“But it was wrong of me and weak,” she said, meeting his gaze with glazed eyes. 

“You are not weak, you are human. We were fashioned to love, be it a blessing or a curse.” 

“Nonetheless, it should not have happened,” she murmured, snuggling into his warm embrace.

“But it did, do not curse yourself for it. You deserve to feel good,” he whispered, holding her close and somehow she wished he could realise the same for himself. 

“You do as well, Lyro.” His only response was kissing her temple and embracing her tighter.

“You deserve more than what you deem yourself worthy of,” she continued. 

“I could say the same to you.” 

“It seems we’ve reached an impasse,” she smiled against his skin. He laughed, a warm and full sound. 

“It seems we have.”

It felt safe to be in his arms, as if nothing in the world could touch her. Just like when Oberyn holds me. 

“I said goodbye to one of my ghosts, this morn,” she confessed as the Lyseni stroked her hair tenderly. 

“You did?” he asked. “What kind of ghost?” 

“One from my past.” His hand continued to toy with her hair. 

“I see,” the man mused in his melodic accent. “And are we happy or sad about that?” 

“All that, with more than a tinge of relief. It was time I laid him to rest, or he would forever haunt me and that would have been no kindness to either of us-- However sweet of a ghost he may have been.” 

“Sometimes it is necessary because they will only hold us to the past. Time waits for no one, I am afraid.” 

“I do agree, Lyro.”

“I have ghosts of my own, as well,” the man relied. “But it does no good to dwell on such matters, for they are no longer haunting me.” 

“We are both free of our ghosts, it seems. We should toast, perhaps,” Elia smiled wryly.

“Mayhaps not. It is still a piece of us that we buried, sometimes the wounds are too fresh for us to celebrate the death of a part of us.” The Dornishwoman could not argue with that. 

“You are far wiser than I,” she said, closing her eyes and sighing. She felt his laugh vibrate through his chest. 

“I would not say that, My Queen.” 

They remained like that for some time, until Elia heard the happy voices of her children in the sitting room. Together with Lyro, she rose, tied her robe tightly and walked through the hall, to be greeted by not only her brother and his paramour, but with her children and Viserys. Aegon was in Ellaria’s arms, a little smile gracing his face as soon as he laid his eyes upon his mother. 

“Mama,” Rhaenys smiled, letting go of Viserys and Oberyn’s hands, to greet her mother. 

“My sweet girl,” Elia replied, bending down to embrace her daughter. 

Then, the Dornishwoman turned to Viserys, dressed in a black and red doublet, with the Targaryen sigil embroidered on his chest.  _ He looks like a younger version of Rhaegar. _

“Don’t you look handsome, Viserys?” she asked, embracing the boy and kissing his cheek. He held onto her longer than required. When she disembarked, she noted a slight blush covered the apples of his cheeks and stroked them tenderly with her hands. “An image of your brother.” That earned her a look from Oberyn but Elia only smiled.  _ Rhaegar is handsome, _ only a fool would say otherwise.  _ Simply because I have grief with him, does not make me blind. _

“Thank you, mother picked it out,” the boy mumbled, shyness lacing his words. 

“Shall we break our fast?” The queen asked. “I can have the servants send us food.” All the people present nodded, so Elia called for food to be brought to them. 

After their fast was broken, Rhaenys and Viserys went to their lessons in the art of speaking High-Valyrian, history and geography. Aegon was taken away by Melly to be fed and bathed, whilst Oberyn, Ellaria, Elia and Lyro remained in Prince Oberyn’s chambers. Lyro and Ellaria moved into the other rooms, wishing to play a game of Cyvasse but the Dornish queen knew that it was to give her and Oberyn time alone, to speak. 

“What had you so disturbed earlier, Elia?” Oberyn asked softly, gazing at her with his viper’s eyes, analyzing and assessing. 

“It was childish, Oberyn,” she shrugged, “Nothing you must needs be concerned with.” 

“It was  _ him _ , was it not?” Her brother sounded dangerous as he spoke the words. 

“Isn’t it always?” she smiled ruefully but the Red Viper did not find the situation to be very amusing at all. 

“What did he do?” Prince Oberyn left no room for argument, so she indulged him. 

“He showed up drunk, to my chambers.” 

“If he did something to you, I will kill him. King or not,” Oberyn began, darkly. “Did he?” 

“Yes, but I allowed it,” Elia said, hopelessly. “If only I'd sent him away,” she whispered and felt her brother place his hand atop hers. 

“He bedded you?” the Red Viper of Dorne asked, not unkindly. There was no judgement or scorn to his words, it was simply a question posed. 

“Not per se,” she allowed, looking away in embarrassment. 

“I see,” her brother replied tersely. “Were you opposed to it?” 

“I wish I had been.” Her words were quiet and solemn. That was when Prince Oberyn took hold of her chin softly. 

“Look at me, Elia,” he began. “If that is the only damned thing that the Dragon-King can do for you, then do not lose any sleep over it. If we can’t enjoy the small pleasures, then what is life but grief, misery and pain?” 

“It should not have happened, Oberyn.” 

“He was drunk and you were lonely. Is that not how it usually happens?” Prince Oberyn snorted and the comment did make the Dornish queen smile. 

“Listen to me,” her brother beckoned. “Do not ever feel ashamed. It is he who should feel all the guilt, do not deign yourself to carry it for him.” Elia looked at her brother for a few moments before embracing him, murmuring a thanks. 

“I hope you did not reciprocate though, sister,” the Dornish prince grumbled and it made her laugh. 

“Rest assured, I did not,” she allowed and pulled away. Oberyn simply smirked. 

“You remind me of myself even more, each day that passes.” 

“Perhaps it is you who takes after me,” she replied snobbishly. 

“You wish,” the prince snorted. 

Then, they all took a trip to the court, with Elia holding it, as was her duty as queen. Mercifully, Rhaegar was absent and so was his Northern queen. The Dornishwoman suspected that it had something to do with the copious amount of wine he’d consumed the night before. She did not know how she felt about his silence, yet the queen had to remind herself that it was  _ her  _ who’d ran away, but the thought did strike her that perhaps he would’ve done the same, had he woken first.

***

The summon came when she was in the nursery, with Queen Rhaella and her children, during the early hours of the eve. 

“King Rhaegar demands and audience with you in his chambers, as soon as you are able, m’queen,” the servant said nervously.  _ Half-a-child, she is. Most like new, as well.  _

“He demands?” Queen-mother Rhaella asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“W-wi-wishes, m’queen,” the servant stuttered after swallowing loudly. Elia smiled gently. 

“Thank you for the notification, you are dismissed, sweetling.” 

Elia had sparsely notified Rhaella of Rhaegar’s drunken stumbling into her chambers, the previous eve but she left it at that. His mother had frowned and shook her head, apologising to her good-daughter for her son’s foolish behavior. 

_ “I will tell him that such behavior is not okay and that it is shameful when it comes to a king,” the Dowager Queen said, her eyes cloudy.  _

_ “Please do not,” Elia replied quietly. “I do not wish to fan a fire and I don’t believe it will happen again.” Rhaella stared at the Dornishwoman for a few minutes with glassy but clear eyes.  _

_ “If that is what you wish, My Queen.”  _

“Mother when will Rhae and I receive our chambers?” Viserys asked, as his rooms were not yet ready, having been delayed due to a few loose floorboards. 

“Soon, my son. They say it will only be a few more days, here in the nursery.” 

“Alright,” the silver-haired prince mumbled, stroking Rhaenys’s hair as she drew with her pencils on a piece of parchment. 

“It seems I will have to depart for now,” Elia replied, satisfied with having made Rhaegar wait a few extra moments. “Will you set them to bed, good-mother?” Rhaella nodded, fondly smiling at her son and the grandchild in her arms. Aemon had been fetched by his mother earlier, the recollection of that strained silence, enough to make Elia uncomfortable. 

“Of course,” the Dowager Queen replied, kissing Prince Aegon’s head. The Dornishwoman kissed the silver-haired woman on her cheek, before rising and saying her goodbyes to the children, as well. 

Rhaenys and Viserys both embraced her at the same time, which made both Rhaella and Elia laugh. 

“Soon you will be all grown, my sweets,” Elia murmured, kissing both Viserys and Rhaenys’s heads. “Stay young for me, will you not?” 

“We promise, mama,” Rhaenys replied, fiercely. The young prince simply nodded along. 

Aegon was almost asleep, but reached a hand out to touch his mother’s hair, a habit of his. The action made the Dornishwoman’s heart swell and she leaned down to place several kisses on his cheek and head, bringing little giggles out of the prince. Then, she was off on her way to the King’s chambers, equal parts giddy, anxious and dreading what was to come. Ser Jonothor was trailing behind her this time, a silent, white shadow. It did not take long for her to arrive outside Rhaegar’s door, her heart beating fast in her chest.  _ Do not let it show. Keep your calm, _ she told herself. 

Of course, Ser Arthur stood guarding the door, but he kept his face blank as he greeted her blandly. 

“My Queen.” 

“Ser Arthur,” she countered and waited for her presence to be announced, so that she could enter the chambers. 

Rhaegar was looking into the fire, wearing a black tunic that clashed vividly with his pale skin and hair. Indigo eyes met hers as she entered, Ser Jonothor closing the door behind them. 

“Your queen is not here,” Elia noted evenly. 

“She is,” he replied, staring at her as if trying to solve a puzzle. 

“I meant the young one.” 

“Both are young, you judge yourself too harshly, Elia,” he said, almost smiling as the light from the flames flickered across his face. 

“Please sit,” he beckoned her, taking a seat on an armchair, himself. The Dornishwoman did as she was bid, straightening the hem of her gown that she’d borrowed from Ellaria. A silken scarf covered her neck. 

“What a nice scarf,” he complimented. “You do not usually wear them.” He was behaving queerly, as if he knew what laid behind the scarf, or perhaps more. The queen suddenly found herself anxious. _ Perhaps he heard whispers of Arthur from the eunuch, maybe we were not so discreet as I thought. _

“I felt a chill,” she replied warily. 

“Understandable.” “Do you know why I called you here?” he asked and her heart began to beat faster and she felt gooseprickles cover her bare skin. 

“No,” she replied and earned an amused glance from the king.

“No?” he mused. “I wish to apologise for my behavior last eve.” Relief cascaded over her like the sweetest release. 

“Oh,” she said breathlessly, wondering if she swallowed too loudly, or her breathing was too fast. 

“It was not seemly of me and I even begin to tell you how sorry I am for putting you in such a position,” he moved to grasp her hands, staring at her with something she believed was sincerity.  _ With Rhaegar, one never knows. _ “But I need to know what I said,” he said and Elia closed her eyes and counted to ten. 

“You want to know what you said?” she asked, almost sneering. “Ask the wine.” 

“I am asking you,” he replied calmly, his indigo eyes looking more cobalt than violet. 

“Please,” he continued in a whisper. 

“Nothing you have not said before,” she replied cooly. “That you are sorry, that you hurt me again, that you made a mess of things and that you do not know what to do. That you love both me and her, but that she was not meant to be queen and that I was.” Rhaegar nodded, making little circles using the pad of his thumbs, on her wrists. 

“I am sorry for disturbing you like that,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her hands. 

“You were not there when I woke.” 

“No.” Elia stared at him intensely, the sharp structure of his jaw, the strange and ethereal color of his eyes, the queer look that he harbored within them. 

“And you refused to tell Arthur where you went?” His tone held amusement now. 

“Perhaps,” she allowed, slightly smiling. 

“I have thought,” Rhaegar mused. “If I am to try to make amends, it must begin with you. The woman I hurt the most.” She was confused but nodded, nonetheless. _ Oh, Rhaegar. Nothing could ever atone for what you did, however my heart may want it to. _

“We will travel to Dorne on a Royal Progress after my mother has recovered from birthing my sibling, so that she can act in my stead when we are gone.” Elia gasped, _ so soon? _ She was giddy with excitement, yet somehow she knew there was more to come.  _ He would never simply give me this. No king would. _

“And the catch?” she asked. 

“The catch?” her husband frowned. 

“There is always a catch, nothing good ever comes for free.” His smile turned sad, then. 

“It was King’s Landing and I, who did this to you.” The Dornishwoman did not reply. 

“We will begin our journey to the Stormlands, to visit the seat of Stannis Baratheon and his wife. Then we will journey into Dorne and lastly, we will finish with Winterfell.” It felt like a poisoned gift.  _ He giveth with one hand and taketh with the other.  _

“So you will allow me to travel to Dorne and then we shall visit your other wife’s dear family, as well?” Queen Elia almost rolled her eyes. “Was it because she asked so sweetly and you felt forced to give me the same, or earn Dorne’s wrath?” Her husband simply stared at her for a few moments, indigo eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the fire.  _ He looks tired… Serves him right.  _

“I thought you would be pleased,” Rhaegar said, moving to rub his temple.

“You will be bringing your new wife and child into a kingdom that you scorned. It is like spitting in each of their faces. I am not pleased, I am content. You owed me this.” 

“Please, Elia,” he begged. “I am trying the best I can. To please these lords, to please the smallfolk, to please my children, the realm and to please you.” 

“Do you wish me to comfort you? To stroke your hair and murmur sweet words of how you are doing so well? She asked. “I am not your young wolf-girl.” “Do you feel the weight?” she leaned in and asked in a sweet whisper. “That is the burden of the crown, the woe of ruling. It will never ease, so you might as well grow comfortable with it.” 

“You must promise me one thing, if we travel to Dorne,” Rhaegar said, looking straight into her eyes, his face inches from hers. 

“What?” she asked.  _ Anything, anything at all!  _

“Be honest with me. You will not plot or plan anything that could prove harmful while we are there? I know you will not but I need to hear it. I am aware of my slights to Dorne and will work to mend them. You do not know how sorry I am for the harm I have caused.” 

“You would not quit your incessant blathering of it, last eve,” she murmured. 

“Swear it, Elia,” he said and she felt anger course in her veins. 

“Do you not think that I, of all, am weary of wars?” the Dornishwoman gritted out. “Because it was me you left, to feel the full effect of them. Do not sit there and tell me not to start one, as if I would seek it out!” 

“Please,” he told her, calmly, his hands caressing her wrists. 

“Fine!” she hissed. “I promise that I will not do anything, so long as you treat our children gently, do not make any hindrances toward them and their birthrights and consult me before you make decisions that regard and impact their futures.”

“I would never take what is theirs. I love them,” he whispered. 

“You said that before you ran away with your wolf-girl, as well.” Rhaegar remained silent for some time, as if brooding on her words. Sensing that the discussion would do naught but bring upon old pains, she changed the subject and asked the question that had been gnawing on her, since the morn.

“You told me that Lyanna was not meant to be a queen, last night.” His indigo eyes snapped up at her, then, seeming apprehensive. 

“She wasn’t,” he confessed. “I stole her girlhood and forced her to make due with a life that is less than satisfactory here. She misses her home, and does not enjoy the queenly duties. I can only be there for her so much and it is not enough.”

“How touching, should I weep?” Elia asked. “You almost stole our lives and you expect me to feel sympathy for a girl who knew what she was doing? Everyone’s life is less than satisfactory and a queen’s duties are not easy. I made due with it, I’ve made due without your presence and love and so should she.” 

“She is not you, Elia and stop it. You have my love.” _ perhaps a tenth of it, _ she thought dryly.

“If you wish to set her free, then why do you not unmake her as queen?” Elia asked.  _ I do not have any malicious intent behind the words. I am simply curious.  _

“When the faith barely accepted our union in the first place? It is only because they do not have a great army nor any wish for more war, that they allowed it. Aemon would become a bastard, should I cast her aside and a war with the north might be imminent, if their prince is bastardised and their lady, scorned.”

“Lord Eddard swore-” she began but Rhaegar cut her off. 

“-Lord Eddard did, but not the rest of the north. They have a prince now and would be most wroth to see him put aside. So yes, Elia. I do love her but she was not meant to be a queen. Yet she  _ will  _ be, she  _ has  _ to be.” 

“What happens to your prophecies now?” she asked warily, shifting in her seat and feeling his eyes on her. “Now that they so obviously and  _ pathetically  _ failed.”

“I was chasing shadows. They lied to me,” he replied and sounded so defeated. “I am king now, I cannot fuss on such anymore. The boy within me must die, like mother said but it is hard.” 

“I will geld you the next time you begin speaking of your prophecies to me, or involve our children in the farces,” Elia said, and no one could tell if she was jesting or not, least of all King Rhaegar. 

“I do not doubt it.” Yet he made no promises to fully stop with them. 

“All I want is nothing more than for the realm to prosper, Elia. For us to thrive and be happy. I know I will never have your forgiveness, but know that I love you and our family.” The words felt bittersweet to the queen.  _ You tell me, yes, but then you never seem to go through with it. _ She was torn between wrenching out of his grasp and jumping into it.  _ It is so very hard, feeling like this.  _ Could her heart not just make up its mind?  _ Would I not be happier for it?  _

“Whatever you say, Rhaegar.” 

“I made you this way and believe me when I say that nothing hurts me more,” he began.  _ Mayhaps your children dying before they even lived would hurt more. It did for me. _ “But we will rebuild and grow, as well.”  _ Will we? _ She wondered,  _ will we truly? _ Rhaegar sat up straight, then, abandoning her hands. 

“Did we.. did I…” he began, eyeing her strangely and clearing his throat. “Did I bed you last eve?”  _ Well, there I have my answer. He does not recall.  _

“No, you didn’t,” she replied, almost amused at his boyish reaction. 

“Ah,” he replied and neither knew quite what to say. 

“Would you have wished to?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Only ever if you’d want me to,” he began, staring at her intently. “I do not deserve anything else but to serve at your behest.” 

“It is not a duty, Rhaegar,” she replied tersely, the amusement forgotten, wanting to tear at her hair.  _ Am I so undesirable? Does everyone have to think it is their duty to fuck me?  _

“No I didn-” he began, rubbing his temples and frowning. “I only meant-” He seemed to be stumbling over his words. “I- of course I want you. It is not a duty but never would I force myself upon you, if you were not willing.” _ Oh, I am willing alright, but with every sweet moment we share, my mind feels the need to remind me what you did to us. What you did to our family, to my house and kingdom. _ He was all she had and many ladies would have counted themselves lucky.  _ Until you must suffer what I suffered.  _

_ Then you would understand why I feel no control of my body, nor any safety in his arms.  _

“I fear that will take some time.”

“We have a surplus of it. I can wait.” There was a sadness to his words.

“Did your mother inform you of Rhaenys and Viserys’s sleeping arrangements?” Queen Elia asked, trying to get past their previous topic of discussion. 

“Yes,” Rhaegar smiled. “I do think it is quite a good idea. They are both fond of each other and Viserys will protect her dutifully.” 

“I will not have their childhood stolen from them. Let them be young, Rhaegar,” she said suddenly, reminiscent of her own youth. “Let us not plague them with more duties and obligations than necessary.” Her husband nodded, a gloomy smile on his face,  _ perhaps thinking of his own youth that was lost to those prophecies and his father’s madness.  _

“I do agree.” 

“Good,” she said, rising and her husband rose with her. “Do I have your leave?” the Dornishwoman asked, tucking a brown curl behind her ear. 

“Yes, of course,” he murmured softly, walking her to the door. His hand brushed against the small of her back, warm and pleasant. She was to open the door, when he placed a hand on it. Elia turned to her husband, eyeing the handsome man strangely.  _ Why does he seem so nervous, _ she wondered, watching as he leaned down, closer to her face. 

“I may not recall the night before, or what happened during it, yet I am grateful that you did not send me away. However, I should never have put you in that position.” 

She was weary of that damned night, already. 

“Let us leave it behind us, Rhaegar. It will not happen again.” 

“No, it will not. I promise you that,” he breathed, his breath fanning across the side of her face, strangely pleasant. 

“However, I do recall waking to you sleeping in my embrace, noting those little marks around your neck, before falling right back asleep. What a sight you were, almost ethereal.” He seemed to have caught her in one of her little lies,  _ yet it was not exactly a lie, was it? He did not bed me.  _

“I did not hurt you, did I?” Rhaegar asked and his voice sounded small, as if he feared her answer.  _ If I say yes, then he would most like think of what Aerys did to his mother.  _

“No you did not, Rhaegar.” Did he deserve to be comforted, after all he’d done? No, but that did not stop her soft words. The heart is a mercurial thing and Elia Martell’s was no exception. Relief clouded the king’s features and he let out a shaky breath. 

“I only want to please you,” he began quietly. “One day, I hope you’ll let me.” 

“It is late, Rhaegar and I am tired. Goodnight,” she said, silencing her bleeding heart, as well. 

“Good eve, my love,” he whispered, leaning down, his lips barely brushing against hers. Then, he placed a tender kiss on them, cupping her face and finishing with a kiss to her temple. Elia simply nodded and opened the door, keeping her head held high and not looking back. Ser Jonothor followed her back to her chambers, standing guard for the night. 

The day had been almost as confusing as the night and all Elia could do was focus on their impending journey to Dorne.  _ Oberyn will be most pleased,  _ she thought with a smile.  _ And I can meet Doran, Arianne, Quentyn and Oberyn’s children. My little dragons can meet their cousins and their home, they’ll know where they came from, besides the fire and the blood.  _

Things were uncertain but Elia felt that she did not need to have all the answers, for once. 

She had her life, her children and her family. 

Rhaegar was a mess she could deal with after. 

For now, she would enjoy the moments she had with her beloveds, and not let it be befouled by bitterness or hate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk i'm sorry if this is trash lol i'm trash and I feel like i'm ruining things.


	9. Who can ask to be unbroken or to be made again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She does not deserve that,” the Lannister said suddenly, as fierce as the lion on his banners. 
> 
> “No one does, Jaime. I will speak with Rhaella, Rhaegar and the grand-maester in the morn, for what we can do to solve this,” she sighed, meeting his eyes. 
> 
> “I thought we were done with Aerys, done with the war.” his words were but mere whispers.
> 
> “So did I, yet it seems the remnants haunt all of us.” 
> 
> “Will they ever go away?” he asked and sounded like a young boy, begging for reassurance.
> 
> “I do not know, Jaime,” she sighed. “Sometimes the cut is too deep.” He nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously do not know how I can manage posting these chapters so fast. 
> 
> Anyway; here's chapter 9 and in chapter 10, we'll most likely see a larger time jump. 
> 
> And it’ll probably be the last chapter you guys see from me for a while since school is ‘round the corner and it’ll take some thinking and time to write the next.
> 
> This kind of covers the repercussions of war. I shall not say more, lest I spoil the chapter for y'all :)
> 
> Anyways: please leave a kudos if you enjoyed the story and I love, love, love reading your comments so please don't be shy and drop one below :)
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> <3
> 
> PS: t'has not been edited, I fear. I finished it just now, in the middle of the night.  
> PPS: listening to Supercut by Lorde was a mood when writing this

The time after her brother and his paramours left King’s Landing, Elia busied herself in the queenly duties, spending time with her children and advising Rhaegar on certain matters when it came to governing the realm. It made her feel as if she had a purpose and staunched the bleeding wound inside her gut, where she already dearly missed her family. The Dornishwoman would also spend time with her good-mother, who grew ever-larger with child, each day that passed. Both of them were quite lonely, which made it easy to find solace in each other’s company. 

She had to say her proper goodbyes in Prince Oberyn’s chamber, an hour before their departure, as it was not fit for a queen to weep or show undue affection so publicly. A fierce embrace or kiss to Lyro’s cheek in front of the court, would surely make rumors of infidelity and those wanton Dornishmen arise, which Elia neither had the time or patience for. If such gossip began spreading, then it would give everyone a headache involved and perhaps even the paternity of her children would have been questioned. They’d say that the queen was Dornish, after all. Such was her people’s nature.

_“Ellaria,” Elia said softly, embracing the taller woman with the kind, green eyes. The Dornish queen thought she smelled of apples and sunrise. “I will miss you.” The paramour held the queen tighter at that and murmured of how it would not be the last time they met. After they disembarked, she moved on to Lyro, who looked as handsome as ever in his green tunic and sparkling, pale eyes. She was going to give the Lyseni a hug, but he grabbed her and spun her around, making Elia feel half a child again, and not so burdened._

_"Keep my brother in check, will you?” she whispered and he nodded._

_“It has truly been a privilege to come to know you, My Queen.”_

_“And you will keep knowing me,” she replied with a pointed stare at Oberyn, who looked slightly confused. “We will travel to Dorne and I shall meet you all, once more.” The Lyseni did not respond and she earnestly wished that he would come to know his own worth. How someone so beautiful and talented could be so very sad, she did not know. But there are more beneath appearances, the Dornish queen knew that, most of all._

_With a tender kiss to the Lyseni’s cheek, she turned to Oberyn, who had a soft smile on his face, the one he only saved for those closest to him._

_“Sister,” he mused, embracing her the way he did when she was a young girl. There was something peculiar about it, something so magical about it. It never failed to soothe her and give her strength. “Dorne awaits their queen and her children,” the Dornish Prince mumbled._

_“I love you,” Elia replied, strangely close to tears, but she refused to let them fall. Oberyn kissed the top of her head and breathed in deeply._

_“And I love you. Dorne loves you. Never forget, my gentle flower. It is you they long for and your children. Not the Dragon-king, nor his northern wife or that pup.”_

Rhaegar had not touched Elia carnally since his kiss, and they’d developed some sort of routine. He would call for her and broach different subjects when it came to the realm, in the hope that her insight and thoughts on the matter, could help him decide what to do, if he was edging on a decision. Elia, who was keen of mind and had a clever wit, took to these tasks with glee. Often, she would stay until the late hours of the night, sprawled out on the furs in front of the hearth, mapping out certain solutions and considering if the benefits outweighed the disadvantages. 

Her husband would oft watch her with a smile on his face, offering wine or other refreshments as the hours ticked by. 

_“You were made for this,” Rhaegar breathed, leaning against the armchair with a goblet of Arbor Gold in his hand and staring at his wife in awe._

_“You flatter me, My King,” Elia replied absentmindedly, looking at the piece of parchment in front of her and nibbling at the top of her quill, pondering what to do with the surplus of harvest that they’d received._

_At that, Rhaegar put his goblet aside and knelt before her, touching her chin softly, angling her face to meet his. Elia peered at her husband through dark lashes and noticed that his eyes were more blue in the dim light, yet turned closer to purple each time the flames flickered. What an ethereal shade it is, she found herself thinking. Queen Elia thought it enchanting, how such a color could shift and change like shadows that none could reach._

_“Are you aware of how utterly captivating of a woman that you are?” An answer laid on the top of her tongue, yet she did not wish to quarrel. Her husband found his prophecies more captivating than anything and it felt almost absurd that he should use that word to describe her, after all that had occurred. The Dornishwoman simply shrugged, not used to such compliments or how to receive them. After all, she knew only spite and scorn from the court during Aerys’s reign and now it was full of lickspittles, whose acquaintance she did not feel like making. Melly was one of the realest things about King’s Landing to Elia, and that said something in itself._

_"There is a fire within you, Elia. Burning bright, do not let anyone dull it.” She wanted to scream that King’s Landing already had, that he already had, that war already had. Instead, she nodded and turned back to the papers in front of her, idly wondering if she should take the children for a stroll in the courtyard, during the next morn. Queen-mother Rhaella loved those walks and Elia did not want to take that pleasure away from her good-mother, who’d suffered so much. All of them knew how the babe inside her womb came to be, yet the Dowager Queen seemed reborn with purpose because of that quickening. She had told her good-daughter that it was the only good thing that Aerys could’ve given her, no matter the circumstances of how it came to be. Rhaella had said that they were old wounds that did not bleed any longer. The Dornishwoman hoped it was the truth._

This eve, two weeks had passed since the Dornishmen departed King’s Landing and the Dornishwoman was sleeping contently in her bed until a rapt knocking on the wooden door woke her. _What in the Gods’ names?_ Elia groaned, moving to rise and donning a robe. _The flames in the heart have died_ , she noted in dismay. Not bothering herself with that, she moved through the hall into the sitting room where the door to her chambers were. The closer she got, the more clearly she heard bickering voices and a soft sound, like a mewling kitten. 

“I do no-” she heard Ser Jaime begin to say, until she opened the door and stared at the people outside. Her eyes looked to the bundle clinging to Ser Jaime’s neck, it was Rhaenys. _What?_ The sworn shield looked disheveled as well, as if he’d only just woke. His curly, golden hair was tousled and he was only in a white tunic, half-laced so she could clearly spot the smooth, tanned skin of his chest. A scabbard with his sword hung around his waist, yet the man was not armored beyond that. 

“What happened, Ser Jaime?” Elia asked, despair lacing her words. He moved to speak but Ser Jonothor cut the younger knight off. 

“I told Ser Jaime to return the princess to her chambers and return to the white tower, you should not have been disturbed, My Queen.” The queen was stunned, _that is my daughter and she is distraught and you think I would not want to hear of it?_

“The princess wished for her mother,” Ser Jaime said through gritted teeth and the soft sniffling of Rhaenys grew louder. 

“Of course I would have wanted to be woken,” Elia hissed at Ser Jonothor. “She is my daughter.” 

“Here,” Ser Jaime said and untangled the mess of tiny limbs and dark hair, handing Rhaenys to her mother. 

“Mama,” Rhaenys whimpered, clutching Elia’s neck as the Dornishwoman swayed and hushed her daughter, soothingly. _What happened?_

“Thank you, Ser,” Elia murmured, throwing a cold look at Ser Jonothor. The knight’s emerald eyes looked worried as he gazed upon the princess. 

“You are dismissed, Ser Jaime,” Ser Jonothor said and Elia turned to glare at him, moving to speak but the young Rhaenys beat her to it. 

“Jaime stay,” she whimpered, “Don’t leave.” 

“I would not want to keep you, Ser. You need your sleep,” Elia told the young knight but he shook his head. 

“I can stay if she wishes it so. I am bound to serve her.” 

“Alright,” Elia said, allowing the knight to step inside and handing him Rhaenys. 

“Take her into my bedchamber, I will not be long.” 

“Mama,” Rhaenys said again, staring with wide, lavender eyes. She kissed her daughter’s head and murmured of how she would be there soon. After Ser Jaime vanished into her bedchamber, Elia turned to Ser Jonothor. 

“I have the power to dismiss my subjects, not you, Ser,” she said sharply. “For future reference, I will not have my daughter sent away like a plague, simply because I am sleeping. You swore you vows but motherhood demands vows of its own. To love and protect my children, to keep them safe and be there, whenever and for whatever they may need. Do not ever presume to dismiss me or my children like that, ever again. You do not know what is in my heart, no more than I know what’s in yours. Have I made myself clear? The next time you presume to know what I wish, I will bring my grievances to the king himself.” The knight stared at her with wide, blue eyes. 

“Of course, My Queen,” he bowed. “Forgive me.” Elia simply nodded and shut the door to her chambers, moving to where her daughter and Ser Jaime were, instead. 

A heat enveloped her as she entered her bedchambers and the Dornishwoman noted that Ser Jaime was tending to a crackling fire, with Rhaenys in one arm and a metal rod in the other. 

“You lit the fire,” she said, idly wondering what time it was. 

“It was cold,” he murmured, the flames giving his eyes a greener glow. Elia discarded her robe, the heat being enough to warm her. Rhaenys was still silently sniffling in his arms and he kissed the top of her head, whispering sweet comforts. _He does care for her._

“What happened?” Elia asked, beckoning the knight to sit down next to her on the bed. Rhaenys was placed between them, clinging to the crook of both their arms. 

“I do not know,” the knight sighed. “Somehow she made it to the white tower and Ser Arthur found her, but she demanded to see me, so I was woken. After that, she would not speak, she only burst into tears in my arms and whispered of how she wanted you.” Elia stroked her daughter’s soft, brown hair and sighed. 

“What had you so scared, my sweet? And how did you escape the bedmaids and the guards?” 

“They were sleeping,” the princess sniffled. Elia frowned, stroking her daughter’s wet cheek, tenderly. Ser Jaime was eyeing the child hopelessly, looking distraught himself. 

“What happened, Rhaenys?” the Dornishwoman asked and regained the attention of her daughter. 

“They were coming to get me, mama. Grandpapa was a dragon and they were coming to get me,” the girl whimpered and dread washed over Elia, the past memories of Aerys and the wounds of their imminent deaths left behind, bled afresh. 

“It was only a frightening dream, sweetling. You are safe and no one can hurt you,” the Dornish queen whispered to her daughter, picking the little girl up in her arms and embracing her tightly. 

“You are safe now,” she repeated and looked at Ser Jaime severely. The young knight looked as if he’d seen a ghost, himself. _The ghost of Aerys, the ghosts of this war, the weeping wounds that never quite seem to close._ Her heart ached for Jaime, as well, for he looked so pale and the things he had to endure were horrible. Gently, the queen reached a hand out, placing it on the knight’s dormant one. _It is warm, like Rhaegar’s and Arthur’s always are._

“You were screaming and Aegon was crying,” the girl whined. “And I could not help you.” Tears slid down Elia’s cheeks as she gazed at Ser Jaime hopelessly, noting that his emerald eyes were brimming with tears. Somehow it did not seem like this was the only time that her daughter had dreamt of such. _How blind could I be? To think that the wounds of this war did not affect her?_

“Is this the first time you’ve dreamt of such?” Elia asked, gently kissing her daughter’s head. Princess Rhaenys did not reply and that was all the answer the queen needed. 

“Does Viserys comfort you?” she wondered. _He is tending to Rhaella this eve, which is why he was not with her._ The girl pulled back and stared at her mother, with watery, lavender eyes, nodding.

“He has them too,” she whispered. _Oh, no,_ Elia thought despairingly. 

“Why did you not ask your bedmaids to take you to me?” Elia knew the answer to that, herself, deep inside. _They would send her back to bed._

“Jaime listens,” Rhaenys said, turning to look at the knight. He tried to smile but it looked haunting, _it looks empty._ “Don’t be sad,” the girl told her white knight, reaching an arm out to touch his cheek and it made the Dornish queen’s heart clench in equal parts love and sadness. _Here she sits, bidding others to not weep, when she is hurting the most._ The princess Rhaenys had a caring, gentle heart, like her mother. No one could deny that. 

Ser Jaime simply took the child into his embrace, hugging her tightly, disguising a sob as a relieved laugh, when the princess grasped his neck equally as tight. _It is alright, Ser,_ Elia thought. _I will not tell. You can be human here._ The Dornishwoman rubbed the knight’s thigh comfortingly and he looked at her gratefully. 

“I think she should sleep with me, for the remainder of the night. Elia looked to her daughter, a mess of brown curls in the crook of her white knight’s neck. “Would you like that, sweetling?” Rhaenys nodded and mumbled a ‘yes, mama’. 

“Alright, then. Let us tuck you in,” the Dornish queen mumbled, feeling weary. _I must notify Rhaella of this._ She thought of Rhaegar as well but it turned to ashes in her mouth, for it was one thing to do this to Elia, but now their child was suffering and it tears at a mother to see their child in pain, knowing they can do naught but whisper comforts and hope it will soothe enough. The queen slid back the covers and allowed Jaime to tuck Rhaenys in. He did so with a gentleness, leaning down to kiss her cheek as he whispered a goodnight. 

The princess stared into his emerald eyes as he leaned down and moved to stroke his cheek again. There was something so pure about the sight. An unbreakable bond, of sorts. The knight smiled and reached out to cup the tiny hand that was placed on his cheek. 

“Sleep now, princess. Tomorrow is another day.” Tiredly, the girl nodded and dropped her arm. 

“I will show Jaime out, Rhaenys. I’ll be back before you know it.” The princess nodded and seemed too grown for her years. _They will speak of what a fierce and strong little thing she is, and say that she deals with herself just fine. Perhaps that she has no need of comfort. Yet we all need comfort, only the dead do not._ The knight rose and mutely followed Elia through the hall and into the sitting room. 

“She does not deserve that,” the Lannister said suddenly, as fierce as the lion on his banners. 

“No one does, Jaime. I will speak with Rhaella, Rhaegar and the grand-maester in the morn, for what we can do to solve this,” she sighed, meeting his eyes. 

“I thought we were done with Aerys, done with the war.” his words were but mere whispers.

“So did I, yet it seems the remnants haunt all of us.” 

“Will they ever go away?” he asked and sounded like a young boy, begging for reassurance.

“I do not know, Jaime,” she sighed. “Sometimes the cut is too deep.” He nodded. 

“I know that you are hurting, Jaime. How could you not?” she asked. “And I know that the court names you a kingslayer, a traitor and that some refuse to treat you with the respect you deserve. Yet none of them know what we went through, not even your sworn brothers, most of which were blissfully unaware of this catastrophe and safe in my homeland. But I know, Jaime and never will I ever condemn you for what you did.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, quietly. 

“Weeping or showing your pain does not make you any less of a man. Not to me. I am here, shall you ever need a comforting hand upon your shoulder,” she whispered and stood on her toes, to kiss his cheek, embracing him softly. He exhaled shakily into her shoulder. _He has no one here and it must hurt. To remain so strong until you have no choice but to crumble._

When the knight left, Queen Elia moved into her chambers and noted that Rhaenys was still awake. She sighed, climbing into her bed and brushing some brown curls from her daughter’s face. _My sweet child._

“Why are you not sleeping?” Elia asked and Rhaenys turned those big, lavender eyes upon her mother. 

“You were not here,” she whispered and her mother moved to cuddle her daughter, kissing the princess’s temple soothingly. 

“I am here, now.” 

“Forever. Do you promise?” 

“I promise.” 

***

“Viserys and Rhaenys suffer night terrors,” Elia told her good-mother as they were in Dowager Queen Rhaella’s chambers, drinking tea. Her good-mother looked taken aback.

“What for?” Elia shrugged. 

“I do not know when it concerns Viserys, yet Rhaenys dreams of Aerys in dragon’s form, of things coming to get her. Aegon weeping and me screaming.” It hurt to speak the words, to breathe them into existence. 

“Oh, no,” Queen-mother Rhaella whispered, the cup in her hand, shaking. “But she is so young,” the woman continued, despairingly. 

“I know,” Elia said, so sadly, moving to take the cup from her good-mother’s hands. 

“I never knew Viserys… I thought I protected him.” 

“I thought I protected Rhaenys as well. It seems they see far more than we give them credit for,” the Dornishwoman replied, sorrowfully. “They comfort each other, yet he was not with her, last eve.” 

“They’re children,” Rhaella sounded close to weeping. “Aerys should not haunt them. They are children!” Queen Elia placed her hands on her good-mother’s, trying to cease their shaking.

“You must not put undue stress upon yourself or the child,” Elia pleaded.

“This is due stress!” Rhaella countered, tears brimming in those eyes of true purple. 

“I will speak to the grand-maester of what precautions we can take, I will also notify Rhaegar of it.” 

“My foolish son,” the queen sighed. “How foolish could we have been? To think the wounds left behind by the war spared them, because they were young?” The Dornishwoman had no answer for that. 

“I demand to accompany you, to the grand-maester’s. Viserys is my son and Rhaenys is my grandchild.” Rhaella looked pale and haunted by the ghosts that never left her. 

“Of course, good-mother,” Elia replied, stroking the woman’s pale wrists. 

“We have eyes but we did not see,” the Dowager Queen said with glazed orbs of purple. 

“Many do. We are not the only ones.” 

***

“What do you mean, night-terrors?” Rhaegar asked, when Elia had taken leave of her good-mother and appeared unannounced to her husband’s chambers, where he was frowning at a piece of paper. 

“I mean dreams of your father,” she hissed, “Dreams of the war, of us--hurt!” she waved her hands and Rhaegar seemed more confuzzled as time went on. 

“She is a girl of three, on the cusp of turning four.” 

“And we were foolish to think the repercussions of this war would leave the young unscathed! Our children are hurting, Rhaegar and we did not see,” Elia said, close to tears. Her husband stroked his clean-shaven jaw and frowned. 

“What can we do?” he asked with somber, indigo eyes. 

“We start with a visit to the grand-maester.” The king nodded, but then frowned, rubbing his temples. 

“Viserys, as well?” Rhaegar was biting his lip, like he always did when he was faced with a troublesome problem to solve. 

“Yes. They comfort each other, which is why we knew naught of it.” 

“I do not know whether I shall feel endeared to that notion or weep.” Somehow, the Dornishwoman agreed with her husband, in a way. The thought that the children were each other’s comfort, was sweet and beautiful, yet the thought of why they should need that comfort was sad beyond words. 

“Did you tell my mother?” he asked, rising from his chair, running a hand through his silvery hair. 

“I did, she is most distraught.” Elia eyed her husband with sharp and steady brown eyes. 

“We all are.” 

“Some, more than others,” she gritted out. 

“What do you mean by that?” he snapped, showing a speck of the Targaryen fire within. 

“I mean that they would not be like this, were it not for the war.” 

“You are correct, yet my father would still have lived and his madness would’ve increased further. The war may have been a catalyst, but Aerys spared no one,” Rhaegar hissed. “I feel fucking horrible, Elia but that will not unmake their terrors. Let us try to help them, instead of bickering amongst ourselves about who or what is to blame. I _know_ that I am accountable, no one ever lets me forget it, least of all myself!” his voice cracked at the ends and he looked weary and tired. _We are all weary and tired, our children are, as well. They see. They pick up._

“Calm yourself,” she said, eyeing him with apprehension. I will not have the children subdue themselves because they believe us to be in bad spirits. “We will have to appear united. They need to trust us, to feel our love and compassion.” 

“I know,” he sighed and walked toward her, taking a hold of her arm, gently tugging her close to him. 

“We will fix this,” he promised, kissing the top of her head and breathing in deeply. “It is not too late for our children.” 

“But it’s too late for us,” she mused and he made no response, except to wrap his arms tighter around her, as if desperate to capture that fleeting moment, to pretend that they were not who they were, but simply a man and a woman. 

After that, they fetched Queen Rhaella and paid Grand-maester Pycelle a visit. Elia had never been too fond of the man. He was old, slow and strange. He disqueted her in ways that no one but Tywin Lannister’s disdainful glances had, when she was a younger woman and thought she was to wed a lion and not a dragon. 

Pycelle was pouring some murky substance into a glass when they arrived and he immediately began to bow and mutter his courtesies and greetings. It felt a bit overdone, if you asked Queen Elia.

“My King, my Queens,” he mused. “What may I do to serve?” Rhaegar stood tall next to his mother and wife, looking every bit the ruler that he was. _I wonder if Aegon the Conqueror looked like him. They already think Rhaegar more god than man, and he has no dragons._

“We come seeking counsel on a difficult matter,” Elia said and the man turned his gaze upon her, as if surprised that she spoke over her husband without leave.

“And what matter may this be?” Pycelle asked, but looked at the king. Rhaella turned to Elia with a raised eyebrow, then the Grand-maester, and spoke. 

“It was my good-daughter who spoke to you and it is her that you will address.” the wrinkled, old man seemed a bit lost and her husband spoke, then. 

“Did my mother stutter, Grand-maester?” Pycelle’s chins bobbled as he shook his head and the Dornishwoman found herself grateful that Rhaegar, despite his faults, was young and handsome, at the least. 

“Yes, yes, what may this problem be, My Queen?” Elia gazed at the man through sharp eyes.

“The Princess Rhaenys and Prince Viserys are having night terrors. What may be done to remedy this?” Of all the things the maester may have expected her to say, that was not it. Instead, he stroked his beard and hummed. 

“Night terrors are normal for children to experience as time drones on, I would suspect that they should grow out of it, Your Grace.” 

“You misunderstand me, maester,” Elia said, looking at the man with disdain. “These are not normal night terrors. They seem to occur frequently and the cause may be from underlying, traumatic events.” 

“The princess is a girl of three, though. Her mind is not near as expanded as the Prince Viserys, I do not see why she should have picked up on these, er… certain events.” She was so close to grabbing him by that ugly, wispy beard. _Gods, please do not ever give Rhaegar the notion to grow a beard._

“If you spent one hour with my daughter, then you would know that she is learned beyond her years. The mind is a delicate thing, especially in the young but she is no half-wit,” Rhaegar said, eyeing the man cooly. 

“Of course not, My King,” Pycelle sputtered. “I only meant that she seems far too young to experience these things and I have never seen such a case in a child that young.” 

“Prince Viserys experiences them as well, yet to what extent, we do not know.” the Dornishwoman patted her good-mother’s shoulder gently, as she spoke the words. 

“Ah, the prince is a boy of eight, is he not?” Rhaegar nodded and Pycelle stroked that ugly, white beard of his, again. “That does seem a cause for concern… However, I would be more able to give a response, if I were to know the nature of his terrors.” 

“Was looking upon Aerys not enough?” Rhaella spit, cradling her belly for comfort. 

“I did not mean to cause offence, Your Grace,” the old man bowed. 

“No you were ordered to give advice,” Rhaegar said, impatiently. “What do you suggest?”

Would he quit stroking that incessant beard? 

“Sweetsleep, Your Graces. It is a known remedy for terrors. It ensures a dreamless sleep.” Elia gasped. 

“That is poison, Rhaegar,” she told her husband, looking away from Pycelle. “I will not give the children _poison_.” 

“It is not poison per se, My Queen,” the grand-maester interrupted, staring at her with watery eyes. “If dosaged and administered responsibly, a pinch ensures a dreamless sleep and they will be free from their terrors, as you wish,” he continued and Elia scoffed. 

“These are recurring terrors, how many times shall we give them a pinch? Until they enter a sleep in which they will never wake from?” 

Queen Rhaella shook her head as well. “No, we will not give them any of that. It never leaves the system, I hear.” Both of the women turned to look upon the king, who was biting his lip and frowning. Finally, he spoke. 

“I agree with my mother and wife. No sweetsleep shall be administered, they are but children. I will not risk their health.”

“Is it better to let them suffer, Your Grace?” Pycelle asked pointedly and Rhaegar looked taken aback, but Elia hissed out a reply faster than he could. 

“Is it better to let them die?” 

“My Queen, I assure you that it would not kill them, I would not expect you to know the intricacies of such a potion.” _Because I am a woman?_ The Queen scoffed. _I am Prince Oberyn of Dorne’s sister._

“I know that a pinch for a _grown_ man will ensure a deep and dreamless sleep. However, I also know that three pinches for a grown man will produce a sleep in which he will never wake from. Now do you have any good counsel to give, or are we finished here?” The Dornishwoman was close to seething. _How can someone who is supposedly clever, be so foolish?_ The old man looked taken aback by her fast retort.

“I-er… Perhaps,” he mumbled, searching for the right words, “Speaking to them might resolve some trouble. To heed their words and offer sweet comforts-- allowing them to heal.” That was something Elia already knew at heart, yet she accepted it. _That was the cleverest thing to escape his cracked lips since we entered._

“Then we shall do that,” Queen-mother Rhaella said, gently stroking Elia’s back. Rhaegar nodded and thanked the grand-maester courteously. 

“I do not like that man,” Elia hissed, walking beside Rhaegar and Rhaella in a quick pace. 

“I concur with your wife, my son. He seems ill-suited to that chain and only ever seemed to say what my fool of a husband wished to hear. But then again, everyone did.” the Dowager Queen seemed sad as she spoke the last words _. No one ever saved her, no more than they did, I. We were casualties by default._

“He has been an able maester,” Rhaegar began, “Yet change is needed sometimes.” 

“Shall we visit Rhaenys and Viserys in their chambers?” The Dornishwoman asked. “They should be in bed by now.” How the clock had ticked by during the day. _It is almost nightfall and I've not supped yet._ However, the Dornish queen did not feel very famished. _I will send for a fruit or something of the sort, later._

“Let us do that,” her husband said and softly took hold of her hand. 

_We will be strong for them. We must._

_Otherwise, who will be?_

***

“That is Aegon with his sister-wives, Rhaenys and Visenya,” Viserys told a young Rhaenys who was seated in his lap, staring intently at the book in his hands. Neither of the children had noticed their arrivals and the sight was so pure that Elia wished to preserve it. _To stick it in a jar and keep it close to my heart._ She turned to Rhaella and Rhaegar, all of whom boasted similar, soft smiles as they gazed upon the innocence of youth. 

“Rhaenys, like me?” the girl asked, her lavender eyes big. Viserys turned to her with a smile. 

“Yes, you were named after her. She was said to be very beautiful and the only weakness of the conqueror’s. They say that Aegon wed Visenya out of duty, but Rhaenys out of love.” 

“She is pretty,” Rhaenys said, pointing at a picture in the book. Her uncle kissed her head. 

“You will be prettier,” he vowed. 

“Will I?” the little girl gasped.

“I promise you.” Elia felt as if her face would soon fall off, from the blinding smile that it decided to don. She felt a warm hand in the small of her waist and looked to her side, only to see her husband smiling back at her, adoration in his face. The Dornishwoman found herself mirroring the expression, wrapping a free arm around Rhaella, as well. It was as if to say; _we made this._ And what greater feeling could there ever be? _Our children are good._

Deciding to break the silence, she called for Viserys and the boy turned his head upward, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he saw his family. 

“Mother, Elia, Rhaegar,” the young prince greeted, closing the book. 

“But I wanted to see more,” Rhaenys complained and earned a laugh from Rhaegar. 

“Later,” Viserys promised, stroking his niece’s arm.

“She takes after her demanding mother,” her husband said, barely able to contain his grin. 

“Or her bookish father,” Elia countered, raising an eyebrow. 

“We wished to speak with you,” Rhaella said, moving to sit beside her son, touching his silver-gold curls gently. 

“What is it, mother?” the young boy asked nervously, seeming to sense his mother’s internal strife. Rhaegar looked at Elia and together they walked to sit on the opposite side of Rhaella. 

“We are not angry, it is important that you know,” Rhaegar began, looking at his brother. 

“You’ve been having night terrors,” Elia said, looking at both of the children. Viserys frowned and wrapped his arms around Rhaenys that was in his lap. 

“We did not want to worry you,” the boy said hopelessly. 

“Oh, Viserys,” Rhaella said. Caressing her son’s shoulder, “If you were hurting, you should have come to us. We would have helped.” 

“But you are all busy. Elia cares and tries to be happy but she looks sad sometimes. I do not want to make her sadder,” the prince whispered. “And Rhaegar is king, he has greater concerns and you worry too much already, mother.” That caused the Dornishwoman’s heart to drop. _He thinks I look sad? I thought I shielded them from my internal grief._ All of those adults present would quickly come to learn that children notice more than they are given credit for. 

“What has you scared, Viserys? What ghosts haunt your dreams?” Elia asked tenderly, feeling Rhaegar’s arm on her shoulder as a way of comfort. 

“It is childish,” he shook his head. _My sweet boy, you are still a child._ “You are still young, sweetling. The burdens of a man will not touch you for years. You do not have to put up such a fierce pretense,” Elia said hopelessly. _Is that what he was doing with Rhaenys? Was he trying to be strong for her? To protect her? That only leaves himself to be neglected._

“You must tell us, Viserys, or we will not know how to help.” Rhaegar’s words were soft and full of brotherly love. 

“It is father,” the boy said quietly. “He’s hurting mother.” Rhaegar closed his eyes, looking stricken and Elia felt compelled to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Even Rhaegar Targaryen, for all the man he was, could not save his mother from his father. Rhaella’s eyes were brimming with tears upon hearing her son’s words. 

“Viserys,” she whispered, leaning her face against her son’s. “He is gone. Never will he hurt me again,” she promised in a whisper. 

“M’sorry,” Rhaenys suddenly whimpered. “I’m sorry, mama.” Her father reached out and pulled the girl into his arms, kissing the top of her head and cradling her to his chest. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, my sweet.” Elia stroked her daughter’s shoulder and noticed that a tear escaped Rhaegar’s eyes, so she moved to wipe that away with her thumb, as well. _Strong. We must remain strong._

“You must tell us if they keep recurring, Viserys,” Elia told him. “We are never too busy for you.” The boy nodded, safely held in his mother’s arms. 

“I did not mean to make you sadder, Elia,” he said quietly. 

“I am not sad, Viserys,” she said but all those present, except the young princess mayhaps, knew that was a lie-- yet none would contradict it. “We are all healing,” she continued. “And we will be fine. All it takes is time.” Those lilac eyes burned into her and the young prince gently slid out of his mother’s embrace and padded over to Elia’s side. Soon enough, she felt his warm arms clinging on to her neck and she smiled, patting his back. 

“I love you,” the boy said. “I do not want you to hurt. I do not want any of you to hurt.” 

“No more than I do, you, sweetling. We will be happy, I swear it,” she whispered. 

After that, they put the children to bed and instructed the guards and bedmaids to send for them, were the children to have their terrors again. Rhaella kissed Elia and Rhaegar on their cheeks and said that she would depart to bed, for the day had been trying and she felt weary. When she departed, only Rhaegar and Elia remained outside the chambers, Ser Jaime standing guard alongside Ser Gerold for the night. 

“Sleep, Rhaegar,” she told her husband, not unkindly. “You are tired.” 

“I feel the weight,” he smiled sadly, referring to the words spoken betwixt them, almost a moon past. 

“We all do,” she murmured, pointing to her own crown. 

“What will you do now?” he asked, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“I will say goodnight to Aegon. I could bring him to you, if you’d like to, as well?” Rhaegar smiled. 

“I would love that,” he replied, eyeing her with a softness. Elia nodded and took her leave, heading to the nursery. _What a day,_ she sighed. _What a night._

When she entered, she noticed that the northern girl was there as well, cooing to Aegon softly with Prince Aemon in her arms. Lyanna stopped, however, when she noticed the boy’s mother had entered. 

“Do not stop on my account,” Elia said, moving to her son’s cot, noticing the dazed smile on his face. “He seems to enjoy it, but then again, he enjoys all the ladies doting on him-- do you not, sweetling? Will you wrap Queen Lyanna around your finger, as well?” She asked her son, showering him with little kisses that made him giggle. 

“He has grown,” Lyanna said, looking at the crown-prince with a fond smile. 

“So has your boy and he looks ever the mirror-image of his mother.” The wolf-girl smiled gently at that. _Rhaegar told me that she has not been overly fond of her duties as a queen and would rather close herself up in her chambers, with her son._ Even Elia knew that such behavior would need to cease. 

“I hear that you’ve not been properly fraternising in court,” Elia said casually. “How come?” _It is better to tread carefully. Harsh words will only prove to frighten and make her sad._

“It is not my place,” the girl shrugged. “They are either lickspittles searching for favor, or hiding behind false courtesies and making jests at my expense.” The Dornishwoman almost rolled her eyes. _She is still young,_ Elia reminded herself. _So was I, when I arrived. She has much to learn._

“Do you think it is my place?” Elia inquired. 

“You handle everything with grace,” the girl murmured. “I am clumsy and uncouth, no matter what I do.” 

“You made it your place when you agreed to wed my husband. You made it your place when he crowned you queen. There is no time for pity or sympathies, why will you not learn? This realm is torn and bleeding because of you and my husband. The least you can do is be part of mending it.” Elia’s words were neither spoken kindly or unkindly-- they were even and seemed to have the desired effect; making the girl think.

“We are not children. The court is as haughty to you as it was to me, when I arrived. I dealt with it. I do not like or care for those people any more than you, yet I don my crown and do what has to be done. I give them my smiles and words, when there is no room in my heart. There comes a time when we all must don our floppy ears. You are no exception, Lyanna.” That was the first time that Queen Elia had addressed the second queen by name. 

“I’ll never be like you,” she whispered. “It is you he needs, not I.” 

“He needs us both,” Elia said evenly. “We all need to rely on each other, or we will be ripped into pieces by those who hunger for power, for glory and those who seek to tear us apart.”

“I will try,” the girl said but Elia shook her head. 

“No, you will _do_. These are your duties as a queen, those you accepted alongside that pretty crown. I will not carry them for you.” The Dornishwoman leaned down to pick her son up, cradling him to her chest. He reached out with tiny hands to grasp a few loose curls.

Then, she turned back to Lyanna and noticed how the girl looked even thinner and paler than she’d seen her before. _Her hair has lost its shine and her eyes look dull._ Somehow, she felt a slight pang of sympathy for the girl, even though she knew that she shouldn’t. 

“How are you faring,” Elia asked warily and the girl looked defeated. 

“I am fine,” she whispered. 

“No, you are not. Neither of us are-- but we must deal with it.” 

“I am disappointing him,” the girl said. “I see it in the way he looks at me.” She was near tears. The Dornishwoman bit her lip, not knowing what to say. 

“Rhaegar is a peculiar man, no one can claim to know his mind.” 

“He lights up when he speaks of you. The way you manage your duties, how you help him govern the realm. I cannot do that.” She was silently weeping, cradling the child in her arms tighter. 

“Yet it was me he left, and you he took,” Elia replied smoothly. 

“I know he regrets it. It is all over his eyes,” Lyanna whispered. 

“It is done and cannot be undone. You must cease your tears and dry your eyes. Love is a game for children and it never seems to end up the way we wish. He is still your husband, content yourself with that. Pour your heart into your duties instead and you shan’t feel so lonely.” The Dornishwoman looked the Northern queen up and down. “And take care of yourself. We can’t have you turn into dust before our eyes, now can we?” 

“Alright.” Grey eyes met hers and it seemed they’d come to some sort of silent understanding. _She needs to learn. This world does not give anyone a break, so why should she be offered one?_ “Thank you,” the girl cleared her throat. “For your words. You are kinder to me than I deserve.” Elia simply nodded.

After that, the Dornishwoman took Aegon to Rhaegar’s chambers, where he opened the door with a smile. 

“It is papa,” Elia smiled at her son, walking past Rhaegar, inside. “He is in a splendid mood this eve,” she relayed, plopping down in an armchair and grabbing a grape from the table. 

“Is he now?” Rhaegar asked, moving toward them and leaning down to pick up his son. 

There was something warming about the sight and it resonated with her heart, tearing at her soul. It was such a beautiful vision that it could not even be befouled by the tiny voice in her head, saying that it was the son he left here, to face the ire of his father and the Stranger’s eventual kiss. 

“Ouch,” her husband laughed as Aegon took a few strands of silver in his little grasp. 

“Now you have someone who shares your exact color’s hair to pull,” the Dornishwoman smiled, addressing her son, who looked drowsy.

“He grows fast,” Rhaegar commented, swaying slightly with a sleepy Aegon in his arms. 

“Looking at his father, I can see how that may be,” she replied dryly. 

“Are you calling me big?” the king asked, amusement shining clear in his indigo eyes. 

“I am merely stating that you are a giant amongst men, husband and it was not easy birthing either of your children.” His expression turned softer, then and he moved to sit beside her, their son carefully placed in his strong arms. 

“And I cannot thank you enough for it.” _But it was not enough, was it?_ She found herself thinking by default, almost. She hated feeling this way, having every sweet gesture of his be befouled by a bitterness she just wanted to begone. Even though Elia knew that he deserved it. The Dornish queen simply smiled and hoped that he would not unearth the sadness beneath. Her husband gazed at her for a few moments, before leaning down to softly kiss her cheek. 

“We will build this kingdom up and our family until it is good as new,” he promised, Aegon gurgling and speaking nonsense in his arms. 

“ Maybe one day we will get around to the act of healing ourselves, too,” Queen Elia sighed. 

  
  
  
  



	10. Silence is our reply, when our mind makes no sound.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The parallels were there, even Elia could see it.  
> “He died, did he not? In the tragedy at Summerhal?” The question did much to sadden the even mood in the chambers, but Rhaella sighed and nodded, nonetheless.  
> “Yes. I birthed Rhaegar as Summerhal was engulfed in flames, killing my family, lords, ladies and servants alike. Born in grief, he was. And it never truly left him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter, the day before school starts again. Anddd it's a long one.  
> I'm ecstatic (not) Second year will be even more of a drag than first year was, but hey, at least we're not going to be the babies of the school anymore. We are going to be the tired, overworked babies of the school, see what I did there... no? Okay I'll just show my way out. 
> 
> Anyway, now that we've had enough of my theatrics; a few things to bear in mind.  
> \- I've aged Jaime up by two years here (making him born in 264 A.C, instead of 266 A.C) This makes him 18, on the cusp of turning 19. It was just a minor detail I wanted to change and it'll have no consequence for the story overall.
> 
> \- I've written a chapter in my other fic (Their Songs Of Fire And Blood) on Jenny of Oldstones and Rhaegar, which kind of ties together with what's mentioned in this chapter, so feel free to check it out if you want like... more I guess? (it's chapter 25 for those wondering.)
> 
> \- This has not been edited, so forgive me for any mistakes. 
> 
> I love reading all your comments and thoughts, so do not feel shy and just drop one below. I really appreciate the love and support you've given me and this story. I cannot thank each of you enough. 
> 
> Perhaps the next chapter will be posted next week, i'm not sure. But as school is starting again, the updates will be sparser. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a kudos if you liked the story and i'll see y'all in my next chapter. :) 
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> <3

The moons flew by in King’s Landing and the royal family was kept duly busy, most of all; Queen Elia. The Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon’s namedays were only separated by one moon, which meant that feasts and celebrations had to be prepared quite close together. Elia initially wished that they could have joined the celebrations, but after inquiring with her husband and good-mother, she put that thought aside. The lords would have seen it as niggardly to force a crown-prince to share his nameday celebration with his sister. Rhaegar had to appear just, open-handed to his loyal subjects, mindful of his duties as king and keep the love of the people. 

The preparations left Elia weary and exhausted each eve, but Queen Lyanna was adamant on offering whatever she could do to help relieve the Dornishwoman of part of her burdens. It seemed that the northern girl had taken their previous conversation to heart and had begun making more frequent appearances in court, though the sadness still haunted her features, as it did them all. Lyanna was far from healed, and though she was making more frequent debutations, the Dornish queen was still aware that she closed herself up in her chambers with her son, sometimes not rising at all, damning anyone who pulled away those blinds and offered her the sun’s harsh glare. 

_"She is young,” Elia told Rhaegar who looked weary and confused. “She is still learning but it is not easy for either of us.”_

_“I worry,” he sighed, running a hand through his silver-gold hair, his indigo eyes pleading for anything, for comfort, for advice, for compassion. “I brought her here.”_

_“You brought me here, as well. She came of her own accord, there was room for her to refuse you, to return to the north and raise the babe as a bastard. Instead, she allowed herself to be crowned queen. It is something every young girl dreams of, but reality is cruel at the best of times and it spares no one.”_

_Rhaegar Targaryen seemed mildly puzzled by her statement and was mulling it over, biting the bottom of his lip._

_“Then what am I to do?”_

_“You allow her the comforts she needs, for now. Then, you wean her off of it, like a child off mother’s milk. She cannot stay a girl forever.”_

The namedays of her children came and went, and it was a prosperous time for all. Rhaenys was crowned the Queen Of Love and Beauty by Ser Arthur Dayne, after he had unhorsed Ser Barristan Selmy in the final tilt. Ser Barristan, though old, remained strong and fierce, having healed from the wounds he took at the Trident. The little princess refused to part with her laurel of pink, red and purple flowers for a fortnight, after that. Ser Jaime, alongside his sworn brothers would take to referring of the princess as their ‘little queen of love and beauty’ after that. Rhaenys raised no objections toward it. 

Viserys had wished to fight in the tourney, as well. To be the one to name his niece the Queen of Love and Beauty. Rhaegar had laughed good-naturedly, ruffled his brother’s silver-gold locks and told him that one day, when he was older-- he would. All the Queen-mother and Elia had done, was to smile softly at each other. The prince was a good and dutiful boy, all would agree. Sometimes, she would spy him in the halls, with Rhaenys atop his back, pretending to be her dragon and the sight would make her eyes brim with joyful tears. 

Aegon’s nameday came next, and he turned one. It was something that Elia had made due with not witnessing, those moons ago when the war was raging and their lives, uncertain. The day had made her weepy, but filled with such a joy that she could not help but smile through the tears. Her son and daughter wiped each away, when they noted them falling and Ser Jaime’s empathetic look made it known that he was aware of why they were falling. Rhaegar seemed to know, as well and it made his eyes turn sad. 

A smaller tourney was held for the crown-prince as well and it was the source of much mirth and happiness. That time, it was not the Princess Rhaenys who was crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty, it was Elia, herself. By none other than Ser Jaime of House Lannister. His green eyes had been sparkling as he placed the laurel of roses, donning all the colors of summer, in her lap. 

_“It is only right that they go to a queen and Queen Elia shines brighter than the sun on this day.” Her heart was thumping in her chest, the cheering of the crowd vibrating through the air. The Dornishwoman could not help the smile that took over her features._

_“I am grateful that you find me worthy, kind Ser,” she replied, smiling at the man who had become something akin to a close friend, during the moons that they’d spent together, with him as her daughter’s sworn shield._

_“No one would be worthier,” he replied solemnly, all smiles and white teeth and golden curls._

_When she looked to her left, she saw Rhaegar with a thoughtful expression on his face, but Lyanna looked pleased for the Dornishwoman, offering a gentle smile her way. After a few moments that seemed like an eternity, but was perhaps only a few seconds, her husband smiled, took hold of his goblet and raised it into the air._

_“To Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard, the victorer of this tourney!” The crowd echoed his cheers, but the king continued. “And to my wife, the Queen of both the realm, along with love and beauty.” Rhaella, who was seated next to the Dornishwoman, kissed Elia’s cheek and murmured of how she deserved it._

Now, the Dowager Queen was great with child, only weeks or perhaps days from giving birth to her babe. Both Rhaegar and his mother seemed to grow more uneasy, the closer the time came for her to give birth. Elia knew the cause of their concern, it had never been easy for Rhaella to give birth or keep a babe, most of her pregnancies had ended in blood and death. The Dornishwoman prayed each morn to the Mother, for Rhaella to be blessed with a babe that lived. 

After the Dornish queen was finished breaking her fast, she decided to pay a visit upon her good-mother. _Rhaella cherishes these times and so do I._ There was something very comforting about being in each other’s presence. They had overcome so much and there were always topics to speak of. If not, then they would simply sit beside each other, in a quiet solidarity, resting to the gentle sound of the crackling and warming fire.

When she saw Rhaella, the beautiful woman was seated in her armchair, covered by a woolen quilt. The Dowager Queen looked strangely peaceful, yet she seemed paler and gaunter, somehow. Quickly, Elia reached her good-mother and gently touched her hand. 

“Good-mother,” she greeted uncertainly and those eyes of true purple met hers, and the Targaryen queen smiled softly. 

“Elia,” Rhaella greeted, dazedly. “How lovely to see your face.” The Dornishwoman returned the smile but gingerly reached a hand out to the pale woman’s forehead. _She is warm,_ Elia noted, _but not warm enough for a fever, I’d say._

“You look a little tired, when did you last sleep?” Elia asked tenderly. 

“The babe keeps me up, kicking and moving. It is strong, I feel it.”

“How could it not be? With you for a mother?” Rhaella cupped her good-daughter’s cheek then and smiled.

“You are too kind of a woman, Elia. You always have been. Do not let anyone tear out your heart, the world is cruel. It is up to us, to be less so.” 

The armchair was quite large, so the Dornishwoman decided to snuggle up next to her good-mother, stroking the silver-gold hair softly. 

“What will you name it?” she asked carefully, thinking that perhaps Rhaella would not wish to think of such, would the babe be born dead or fail to thrive. The Dowager Queen smiled with her eyes closed and spoke. 

“Valerion, if it is a boy, I should think. Or perhaps Daeron, for both my uncles, who perished before their time. Rhaegar reminds me of Duncan, you know?” she asked and Elia felt strangely confused. All she knew of Prince Duncan was that he cast aside a crown to be with his love, Jenny of Oldstones _. A peasant girl, but beautiful and strange, if the poems and songs are to be believed._

“Because he ran away with his one true love, breaking his betrothal?” Elia could not hide the bitterness in which she said the words. _Didn’t Rhaegar once play me a song, Jenny of Oldstones, it was called?_

“No. Because they were both promising young men, beautiful and dutiful, loved by the people. Yet somewhere along those lines, something happened and changed within them. With Rhaegar it was prophecies, dark shadows and nights that would never end. With Duncan, it was the strange, peasant girl who claimed to be of the First Men, noble of blood. A kind thing, she was, but it was as if she was not truly there. I think he liked that about her, the free spirit, the ease that he could have with her. She required neither jewels or fancy gestures to keep her. Only his love.” 

The parallels were there, even Elia could see it.

“He died, did he not? In the tragedy at Summerhal?” The question did much to sadden the even mood in the chambers, but Rhaella sighed and nodded, nonetheless. 

“Yes. I birthed Rhaegar as Summerhal was engulfed in flames, killing my family, lords, ladies and servants alike. Born in grief, he was. And it never truly left him.” 

“Did Jenny die, as well?” 

“I do not know, my sweet,” Rhaella began. “She simply disappeared. Did she perish alongside my uncle? I could not say. All I know is that it was cruel, for all those to die, when they’d barely lived. Prophecies did this to my grandfather, to my family,” Rhaella swallowed “Dragons and dreams, it never ends well.” The Dowager queen sounded choked, shrouded with anguish. _She’s lost so much. All that remains of the Targaryens are her and her children-- with my children. Maester Aemon renounced that name when he took the black and he his thousands of leagues away, of no proper comfort to his great-niece._

“I am so sorry,” was all Elia could whisper, kissing her good-mother’s cheek. 

“It is not your fault, child,” Rhaella shushed. “We Targaryens are our own ruin, it seems.” 

“Don’t say that, good-mother,” Elia pleaded. “Every human is their own ruin. We are our own worst enemy.” 

“You are quite correct, Elia. But what else could I expect from Loreza Martell’s daughter?”

“You flatter me,” the Dornishwoman beamed. “And what if it is a girl?” she decided to ask, weary of speaking about history and all men did because of the bits between their legs. 

“Naerys, I think,” the woman breathed. “The wife of the unworthy. A dutiful, beautiful woman who did not deserve the scorn she was faced with. Much like you, my sweet.” 

“Was she not in love with her brother, Aemon the Dragonknight?” The songs, poems and ballads of how Aemon the Dragonknight loved and defended his sister, for a love that could never be, were famed all across Westeros.

“So the songs would have us believe. I wish it to be the truth, as well. A little joy in a life of suffering would’ve been the least they deserved.” Elia loved the name, as well. _If I’d had another daughter, then surely I would surely have named her that, Rhaegar be damned. It sounds so soft and beautiful._

“It is a wonderful name, Good-mother,” Elia replied, staring into Dowager Queen Rhaella’s eyes of purple skies. 

“Yet I find myself endeared toward Daenerys, as well. Two Targaryen women were given that name and they were both most promising things.” 

“The daughter of the wise?” Elia asked. _A precocious young thing she seemed to have been, if the history annals are to be believed. Clever, beautiful, promising and kind. And dead before her time._

“Yes. And Queen Naerys’s own daughter. She was wed off to a Prince of Dorne… Maron, I think his name was. Your ancestor, the reason Aerys chose you for Rhaegar. Her blood courses through your veins, as well as mine. If I gave it, then it would be to honor you and your lineage, my flower. We Targaryens have done you so much harm.” Tears brimmed in the Dornishwoman’s eyes. _She would do that? For me?_

“I suppose we will have to see when the babe comes,” Elia smiled kindly. “They do choose their own names, it seems.”

After some more conversing and resting, Elia took her leave, gently embracing her good-mother. For the remainder of the day, she would take the children out to play in the courtyards, something they’d not done together, for sometime. At least the Dornishwoman had not had the time to be with them for such, always busy tending to her duties, holding court and planning feasts and celebrations. It was hard work, but rewarding nonetheless. _I always make sure I see the children for a few hours each day._

She collected Viserys and Rhaenys from their lessons and fetched a fussy Aegon from the nursery.

“He is teething,” she sighed to Ser Jaime who asked if perhaps the princeling was unwell. “You should have seen Rhaenys,” the Dornish queen smirked. “The little thing refused to be put down for moons.” The knight glanced at the children behind them, Rhaenys skipping and babbling happily next to her uncle who could barely get a word in, between her sentences. 

“I can only imagine,” Jaime said, grinning as the young girl cut her uncle off, once again to speak of Balerion. If it irked Viserys, he hid it well, for he was all-smiles and fond expressions, looking at his niece. _She is the only one close to an age with him, in his family._

The day was hot, Elia noted when they stepped outside, yet there was a comfortable breeze blowing in the air, making the leaves on the trees sway gently. The Dornishwoman was dressed in a gown of green that left her shoulders and arms bare, instead wrapping around her neck and flowing elegantly, tied around her waist with a braided belt of black leather. _It is nice to have something light and breezy in this heat._

“Is it not hot, Ser Jaime?” she asked the knight, giggling softly. He was dressed in the long, woolen cloak of white and in gilded armor, from top to bottom. 

_A true Lannister,_ she mused. Lean and hard and beautiful, no one could deny that Ser Jaime drew the eye of many a maidens at court, even though he was sworn to chastity as a knight of the Kingsguard. _His father may have been cold and dismissive, cruel almost. His sister may have been frosty, vapid and narcissistic,_ yet compared to his family; Jaime was the son of the sun, dazzling for all to see. _He has none of his father and much less of his sister._

“I’m sweating my balls off,” the knight complained, earning a laugh from Queen Elia. 

“Good that you do not have much use of them anyway,” she quipped and earned an amused glare and a raised eyebrow, for her remark. 

“I have half a mind to spar with one of the stable-boys in the yards, just so that I can be rid of this armor,” he said, ignoring her comment. 

“And be the cause for the fainting spells of half the maidens who come to watch?” The queen asked, beaming. 

“The only ones who could make all of them faint, would be Ser Arthur or King Rhaegar,” the knight mused. “Half of the ladies in the court already wet their smallclothes at the slightest of smiles from those two.” _And I’ve had them both… who would think?_

She was endeared toward this sort of light-hearted banter with the knight. He never treated her as if she was a fragile piece of glass, doomed to crack and break. Both of them had borne witness to each others’ darkest moments and spoken no word of it, to man nor maid. _He is a knight of the Kingsguard, but also my friend._ One of her only true friends, she wagered. Melly was another sweet relief, a good-hearted woman, _rare to find in this sty of a city. Too bad she was not born a lady, then I could have made her my lady-in-waiting._ Though, the queen would never put Ser Jaime in a position where he’d be forced to choose between her and the king. Some of her feelings and secrets could only be hers to keep. _Trust blindly, and it will only prove fatal in the end._

“A few more years and I wager that will be you, my good Ser,” she smiled and pointed toward one of the benches, marking that as their place to sit down. 

“How could a mere man as I, ever stand against the blood of old Valyria and the Rhoynar?” he asked, grinning. 

“With the blood of the Andals, I should think,” the Dornishwoman beamed, noting the way the sun hitting his golden curls made them seem as if molten gold. 

The children were waiting in front of them expectantly and it confuzzled Elia, but she realised they were waiting to be dismissed and allowed to run free and play. _Such dutiful, courteous little things._

“You may play, my sweets, but do not stray too far. Septa Myranda will be here shortly, to see to it that you behave,” Elia laughed, with a raised eyebrow at Rhaenys. _She is the troublemaker of the two, Viserys only follows, for he always seems to wish to indulge her whims._

“Okay, mama,” Rhaenys said, before dragging Viserys by his hand, toward the pond with the little fish and frogs. 

“Bye Elia,” her good-brother breathed before he allowed himself to be dragged. 

“Sit down, Jaime,” Elia told the knight who was still standing. Aegon was toying with the loose curls of her brown hair, trying to stuff them in his mouth. _Oh, my sweet babe, I know it hurts._ She tried her best to soothe the little prince, allowing him his comforts.

“What good am I, if I do that?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“You can watch them just as well if you are seated, besides Septa Myranda will be here soon, to keep a closer eye on them.”

With that said, the Dornishwoman patted the seat next to hers and finally, the knight sat down. 

“I am a dead man if the Bull sees,” he moaned but relished in the sun stroking his face. 

“Then let me be a dead queen as well, for it was I, who gave you the order. If he has anything to say, refer him to me and I shall gladly speak of the importance of following orders. Something he did so well, when it came to my husband.”

Ser Jaime smiled with his eyes closed and sucked in a breath. 

“I would not want to be stung by you. What a small but ferocious thing you are, My Queen.” That made her laugh and slap his arm. 

“How dare you?” she asked and pretended to be cross. Jaime opened one eye and his expression softened.

“It is not a bad trait. A mother of dragons has to be.” Things remained silent for some moments after that, until the Dornishwoman spoke, having noticed how fluid Viserys seemed in his movements. 

“You could begin sparring with Viserys,” she mused. “He wishes to learn and has not stopped speaking of his lessons with Oberyn, however few they may have been.” The Lannister sat upright then and began to watch the children, who’d moved on from the pond, to the grass where they were laying down and looking at the sky. Rhaenys pointed at something and Viserys must’ve said something amusing, for the little girl began to giggle hysterically, barely able to stop. 

“He has good prerequisites. And it would give me a good excuse to remove this horridly warm tunic, cloak and chainmail.” 

“Ah yes,” the queen smiled and leaned back, crossing her legs and adjusting the princeling in her arms. “I do feel for you, Ser,” she said teasingly, knowing that as he was blistering in the heat, she was cool as water in her gown. “It seems hard, being a knight and a man, having to dress in such.” Jaime Lannister snorted and turned to look at her with his cat-like eyes. 

“That was cruel, My Queen. You look like a sweet little butterfly but your stings are sharper and harsher than those of bees. I admire that.” 

“This court taught me early on that kindness is weakness, Ser.” 

“But you are kind to your very bones,” he said. 

“We all must change who we are, in order to please others, sometimes. Or to save ourselves.” 

“We should not have to,” he replied, turning to gaze at the children in front of him, untouched by the cruelty of the court. Not yet corrupted by the vipers of King’s Landing. 

“You are right,” she allowed softly. “But when does that ever change things?” Better men than both of them had been right and seen the truths, yet died all the same, to be forgotten. 

“But let us speak of happier things,” she continued after a few moments of silence. “Viserys will be most pleased and I shall see to it with Rhaegar and Rhaella that arrangements are made.

“Ser Arthur is more skilled than I, though.” For a moment, she thought she saw a bit of insecurity in the man’s eyes. 

“But I did not ask him, Jaime. I asked you.” Her voice was gentle and the eyes were gentler. “Besides,” she smiled. “I wish to see you get thrown flat on your arse, at the hands of an eight year old. I do believe Viserys has it in him.” The thought was amusing, for the Lannister knight towered over the prince, being near as tall as Rhaegar and Arthur. Her comment earned a deep laugh from the knight. 

“Perhaps,” he allowed, green eyes sparkling. 

“I remember sparring with Ser Arthur, here in the yards-- years ago,” the knight reminisced. “It was shortly after sunrise, and only a few came to watch. Servants and kitchen-boys, a few ladies here and there. Though I cannot for the life of me fathom why anyone would choose to wake so early.” 

“And?” Elia inquired, absentmindedly watching as Septa Myranda scolded Rhaenys gently, for muddying her dress. _It was an old one, anyway. Perfect for yardplay._

“Well he threw me flat on my arse, as you say the young prince will, but it was still summer and the sun did not spare anyone. So we discarded our tunics and continued the spar. Can I just add that it hurts like the seven hells to be thrown onto the ground, littered with gravel, bare-chested? Perhaps it was mine own fault for discarding my tunic. Yet each time I fell, Ser Arthur would give me his hand and pull me up, brushing the dirt off of my back and shoulders. Blood is the seal of our devotion, he’s told me more than once.” _It certainly was the seal of our devotion,_ she thought wryly.

“How apt,” Elia said, ignoring how her heart hurt at the thought of Arthur and his chivalry. She left him behind, for she knew that he belonged to her past, rather than her future. _Yet that does not make it hurt any less, to hear of his kind nature._

If Jaime Lannister sensed her apprehensiveness, he made no comment of it. _He only knows that things are strained between Arthur and I, that we have history. It is all he needs to know._

“And we went at it for hours, but the Sword Of The Morning was everyone’s main focus. I was only a lean boy of five-and-ten, not near as strong as I am now, or as pleasing to look upon,” the knight winked and Elia scoffed but her eyes sparkled with joy. “And Arthur was the Warrior reborn, but there was this one girl that I could not help but notice. Perhaps she was a lady, maybe she was not,” he shrugged and turned to stare ahead. 

“And?” Elia breathed. “Here I was, thinking it would finally become interesting,” she teased and he laughed. 

“Impatient woman,” he murmured but the expression remained soft. “And I am _always_ interesting,” he added arrogantly. Elia moved to reply but he shushed her. “You wished me to continue and I serve at your behest.” 

“Go on,” she murmured and he eyed her with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, her eyes never left Arthur, or perhaps his body, even once. It was as if she was a woman possessed. I’ve never seen anyone gaze at a stranger with such an intensity, never-mind a lady. I half expected him to burst into flames.” He began snorting, laughing so hard that he could barely finish the story. Elia laughed alongside him, for he had such a peculiar laugh-- the one that was more entertaining than the jest itself. Even the little Aegon seemed to let out a little giggle, in-between his sullen looks. 

“And she-I-I vividly recall how her hands disappeared from my view and how her expression changed,” the knight continued, through breaths and Elia gasped, putting a hand on her heart, acting as if the words offended her. Really, she thought it hilarious.

“How scandalous,” she replied, snorting. 

“ I remember telling Ser Arthur of how I was finished with the spar. He seemed puzzled but nodded. Then I told him of what had occurred and the man turned as red as the Targaryen sigil, grumbling of how we should return to the white tower.” The Dornishwoman giggled but Ser Jaime was not done yet. 

“Oh, it did not end there, My Queen,” Ser Jaime said, running a hand through his glistening, golden curls. “She greeted us on the way back, with a pretty blush and flushed face, her blonde hair disheveled. I nearly died trying to keep my composure and Arthur fared little better, he refused to meet her eyes, mumbling a few courtesies and then, he just _left_ me _there_ , with _her_!” 

“What did you do?” Elia asked, thinking of how absurd a story that it was.

“I told her that I had matters to attend to and that Ser Arthur was feeling ill, which was why he left so abruptly. You would not believe the sullen glance that she gave me, as if _I_ was to blame,” he exclaimed. “Well perhaps to some extent, I was, but don’t tell her that,” he added.

“You have my word,” The Dornishwoman chuckled. 

“When I returned to the white tower, I told our fellow brothers of what occurred and Gods, they refused to let him forget it for moons. They called him Arthur the arousing... I may or may not have been the creator of that.” Mischief swirled in those green orbs.

“I would not put it past you, Ser,” Elia replied evenly. 

“Do they still call him that?” she asked, smiling. 

“No,” he answered wistfully, and seemed to turn strangely melancholy. “It was a different time and we were different people.” Somehow, she did not need to hear more, she simply knew. 

“We cannot stay young forever, however much we’d like to, or how pleasant it feels.” She smiled tenderly at the knight and he returned it. Queen Elia wished to place a soothing hand on his arm or shoulder, but such could not be done publicly, in front of spiders, little birds and watching eyes. Undue affection shown between the queen and anyone who was not her husband or of the same sex, would make many whispers erupt _and I do not have the urge to deal with any of them._ So, she hoped that her eyes conveyed the comfort that her touch could not.

After that, things remained silent betwixt the white knight and the queen. They did not need to speak for it to be real. They simply watched the young Targaryens at their play, perhaps hoping that the world would be kinder to them, than it had been to their forebears. At least that is what Queen Elia wished for. Aegon would occasionally fuss or whine or stick his tiny fingers in his mouth, for some sort of relief toward the growing pains that the teething gave him. 

“It will not always feel like that,” she told her son and mayhaps those words served a double-meaning, as well. People evolve and change, feelings never remain the same. _They are more like twisting shadows, tearing at us, loving us, destroying us-- yet what would life be without them?_

A sudden melancholy took over the queen, as the quiet gave her time to reminisce of her youth. 

“Did you ever crave someone, Jaime?” She asked the knight softly. “Before all of this.” He looked at her with those green orbs, analyzing, assessing, perhaps searching of a clue for how much he could really tell her. They were friends, yes, but he was still a knight. And she was still his queen. Jaime Lannister finally made a reply. 

“Yes. I think.” _That is good,_ she found herself thinking. _At least he loved before he dedicated his life to duty-- A colder wife than most._

“Oh,” Elia began. _He is so young, a man of eight-and-ten._ “Did you love them?” The question posed, took even Elia aback, the one who’d asked it. Once again, the knight took his time before replying. 

“I did… or I think I did. Yes, I did. But it does not matter now, she is far gone-- wedded and expecting children of her own.” That sounds tragic. The Dornishwoman wondered why the knight did not choose to love, instead of obeying. She chanced the question. 

“Why did you not wed her, yourself? If you do not mind me asking… You were the heir to Casterly Rock, a most eligible young lordling. Yet you chose this.” Ser Jaime’s eyes seemed to darken then, turning from clear emerald, to a murky jade. The sun reflected in the tips of his golden hair, giving them an ethereal glow. _Just like it does when it touches Aegon’s silver-gold curls._

“It… It was never to be. It could never be. She-Ce-She was already betrothed by that time and I was a young man, filled with the urge to be glorious.” He paused for a second, swallowing. _Perhaps I struck a chord. I should not have asked him, if he was not ready to speak._

“You needn’t explain it to me, Ser. I have no right to know, my question was not a demand.” Her voice was a gentle murmur. As warm as the sun shining down upon them, kissing their skin and touching their hearts.

“No, it’s not that…” the knight began but faltered. “She was the reason I joined the Kingsguard, you know?” He chuckled a little but there was no mirth to the sound, _as hollow as Aerys’s crown._

“Was she?” Elia asked evenly, not urging him to speak, but not prohibiting him from sharing, either. 

“Yes,” he replied bitterly. “She was to be sent to court. So that we could still m-” he stopped himself, knowing that the next sentence was treason. Elia wanted to put a calming hand on his, to show him that it was okay. _That I will not tell._

“You need not speak the word, Ser. You are but a man, a young one at that. We were fashioned to make mistakes by the Gods, it seems. You are not the first knight of the kingsguard who has had doubts, nor will you be the last.” 

“Anyway,” he shrugged his shoulders. “She remained in Lannisport and I… I came here.” 

“Do you regret it?” Elia asked. 

“Yes and no, yes and no,” he replied, staring out into the distance. 

“I am sorry,” was all she could say. _We are all so sorry, when does it end? To our pains there seems to be no cures. No easy remedies._ The knight gave her a wolfish smile but it looked empty, as if it was only for show. 

“You and I were meant to be married once, is it not funny how the Gods work?” the knight asked, avoiding her gaze and toying with a golden plate of his armor. _That was so long ago, almost a lifetime, it seems._

“You were very young,” Elia noted, “I am seven years your elder, soon to be a crone,” she teased and he looked up, his brown lashes turning pure gold in the sunlight, almost touching his brows of the same color. 

“Lies,” the man scoffed. “If so, you are the most youthful and beautiful crone that I have ever laid my eyes upon, your skin is not even wrinkly,” Jaime continued with a wink. “And I was ten, turning eleven. You were a woman of six-and-ten. Newly turned, if I recall correctly. It was not so great a difference.” 

“Your father was most against the match. He told my mother I could’ve had Tyrion instead.” 

“And what did you think of that?” Jaime gazed at her intently, his cat-eyes vivid in the midday sun. 

“I thought it preposterous.” Something changed in his demeanor then.

“Oh.” _I should explain myself,_ she thought. 

“Not for the reasons you think, my good Ser.” Elia stroked her son’s soft tufts of silver hair, entwined with gold, before speaking again. “I would be six-and-ten years older, almost thirty by the time he would be old enough to consummate the marriage. My mother also aspired for me to wed an heir, young Tyrion was a second son, not set to inherit anything. And selfishly, I wished for a man and not a boy.” She hoped he would not hate her for saying so. _Going from a man such as Arthur to Tyrion, did not sit well with my adolescent heart. I wished for more. Was that so wrong?_

“I understand, My Queen.” Her hand itched to take his, to show him that she truly meant no offense. But she couldn’t. Instead she turned to him with a soft expression. 

“Do you, Jaime?” The knight nodded slowly but his eyes had dimmed. _He loved his brother, that was clear, however little I saw of him there._

“There was and is nothing faulty with your brother. He only looks different from other men, the mind remains the same. I never understood how your sister could be so cruel to him, forgive my words.” Jaime turned thoughtful then. 

“No. Neither did I.” 

“And what if it was me? What did you think of having me?” Elia turned her gaze toward the horizon, a soft smile playing on her lips, like dancing waves. 

“You were courteous and kind, but you liked the arm of your sister and the dagger of my brother’s, more than you ever did me. I do not fault you, though. You were a young boy and girls are of little notice to young boys.” 

“I did, it seems, and where did it get me?” he murmured and the words sounded so sad. The Dornishwoman paused, sensing his gaze on the side of her head and spoke,“But that did not answer your question. I was not opposed to you, Jaime. You were a boy full of promise and you grew into a wonderful man.” Ser Jaime snorted.

“Wonderful is not the way many would choose to describe me.” Elia turned her brown eyes upon him, and they glimmered golden in the sun. 

“But it is the word that _I_ choose.” 

“Imagine that,” Ser Jaime said wistfully, perhaps thinking of a future he knew could never be. 

“Yes, to think how things could have been different,” Queen Elia replied absentmindedly, watching Rhaenys playing in the yards, thinking of green eyes instead of lavender, of Aegon with golden hair, instead of silver-gold. Suddenly, the lost girl of the knight’s youth came to her mind, once more. 

“Maybe you will meet her again, one day.” 

“Who?” he asked. 

“The girl you loved.” He snorted then, as if it was amusing in a horrible way.

“Yes, I most likely will.” he turned sad, then. “She was a part of me. The only thing I ever loved besides fighting and swordplay… until,” he began but they were interrupted. 

“Mama!” Rhaenys squealed from the distance, beckoning her mother forward. Viserys looked excited as well but the septa seemed tired. 

“It seems we should see what they would like,” Elia murmured and both stood up, as if their talk had never been. As if time had stood still and reality did not exist. 

When they arrived, the little princess was grass-stained and mud-spattered, yet a wide smile graced her face. 

“Look at that star,” the girl said in awe, “It is so beautiful, mama. Like you.” 

“Yes,” Viserys concurred. “Like you, Elia.” That made the Dornishwoman’s heart squeeze almost painfully. _My sweet, kind and gentle children._ The star was in reality; the moon, overlarge and plain to see, even during the day. _I remember the maester in Dorne telling me of such rare phenomenons, how they each have meaning. Make of that what you will, yet it is still a nice notion._

“It is very pretty, Rhaenys,” Elia agreed. “Don’t you think, Ser Jaime?” The knight nodded, his golden curls spilling across the side of his head in soft tresses. 

“The Maester in Dorne once told me that it signified rebirth.” 

“A clean slate, a new life?” Jaime asked. The Dornish queen smiled gently. 

“Something like that.” 

But storm clouds seemed to be brewing on the horizon. 

***

“We will stay at Storm’s End for a moon’s turn and then we will travel into Dorne from there,” Rhaegar said, pointing at the road which they will be travelling through, on the map with an elegant finger. Elia nodded, listening intently and tucking a brown curl behind her ear. 

“That sounds good,” she allowed. “And how long will we stay there?” Rhaegar turned to her with a smile.

“Impatient, are we?” he asked and Elia scoffed.

“Of course.” 

Rhaegar pointed to Sunspear on the map. 

“We will stay at Sunspear for a moon’s turn, as well, then we will travel through Dorne, into Starfall, the seat of House Dayne and remain there for a fortnight.” Elia gasped, feeling joy course through her veins. _I will meet Ashara, and her babe?_ Noticing her glee, Rhaegar looked down and smiled shyly. 

“You miss her and Arthur misses his family as well. You deserve it, after all I put you through.” _I know I do,_ she thought. Yet, she thanked him nonetheless.

The fire was burning merrily in the hearth. Crackling and hissing, filling the chambers with a dim light. Rhaegar was dressed in a black tunic and pants of linen, for sleeping. Elia was dressed in a nightgown and her robe, to remain modest for the lickspittles of King’s Landing, should anyone happen upon her, during the walk back to her chambers. 

“How long will we remain at Winterfell? Cold does not agree with me.” Rhaegar knew that Elia was uneasy about the road to Winterfell, since their children were so young and her health, ever delicate. _But he also knows that I do not wish to be the object of sympathy and looks-- oh the scorned wife, what a pity._

“It does not agree with me either, Elia. Targaryens are of the fire.” Rhaegar stopped to bite his lip. “A fortnight, maybe longer, though I would not count on it.” 

“Well,” she clasped her hands together, adjusting her legs on the soft pelt that she was sitting atop, the warmth of the fire licking at her exposed skin. “It seems we have our work cut out for us.” Rhaegar chuckled, his indigo eyes turning more purple in the firelight. 

“We really do,” he sighed. “But I suppose it will be worth it.” 

“It will,” Elia promised. “The people will see their king and his queens. They will know better than to try to tear us asunder. Stags, falcons and such are no match for dragons, suns and wolves." 

Rhaegar nodded, exhaling loudly and sitting down next to her on the floors, smiling with his eyes closed, as the heat embraced him. 

“Ruling has progressed nicely, in many thanks to you,” the king said, putting his arms around her, dragging the small Dornishwoman to his chest and kissing her hair, tenderly. Elia truly did not know how she felt regarding that. She would always love the man. _He is the father to my children…_ but she was not in love with him, _not any longer._ His betrayals still stung, yet if she kept bringing up the past and writhing in it, there would be no hope for her future. _Never will I forgive him, but I can live with him. I can rule alongside him. Love is for children and we are grown._ There was little time for games of spite and cruelty, but if he initiated an argument, the Dornish queen would never bow or break beneath him. He would feel every bit of her ire, make no mistake. _He has much to learn, but then again, so do I._

Rhaegar had still not bedded her and it’d certainly been over eight moons since his return to the sty of a city, known as King’s Landing. It did not matter much to the Dornish queen, for carnal releases were fleeting and one could use their hands, more oft than not, if the need was great. _I will not lie and say that I do not miss the closeness of a man, of waking up with warm arms around me and their head in the crook of my neck._ The king and her had always been well-matched in their marriage bed, more compatible than most could boast. They both knew what they wanted… _and if we didn't? Then we found it out._ Perhaps that was how she was able to remain standing, after the court’s mockery of her, after Aerys’s snide comments and cruel remarks. Rhaegar would always be there, to kiss away the pain. To love her. Rhaella was not allowed to spend more time than necessary with the viper wench, for perhaps Elia’s Dornish ways would rub off on her. The Targaryen queen always managed to found loopholes when they were there, though. 

She had not had her moon’s blood since the birth of Aegon but it returned two or three moons ago, yet it was not quite the same. Her flow had oft been heavy and plagued her with cramps and aches, but this time, it was barely more than a speck or two and it came irregularly. The Dornish queen had visited the grand-maester, to ask him what the meaning of it was. Pycelle had been a blathering fool, as he oft was, but he did answer her questions. After a very uncomfortable examination. The old man’s wrinkled fingers prodding at her thighs and womanhood was not the way she’d intended to spend that midday, but alas, it was what occurred. 

_“Ah… hmm… yes, I see,” the old man said and Elia simply wished to seep into the walls, rather than have an old, wrinkled maester say that, as you were laying on a table, with your legs spread in front of his face._

_“What do you see,” Elia asked, through gritted teeth, her hands clenching and unclenching on the table._

_“Dire news I fear, My Queen,” he said through his gravelly notes. “You may sit up,” he beckoned her, before turning to his basin and washing them with the water inside. Elia wished she could wash her body off of his touch but alas…_

_When Pycelle returned, he looked at her through squinted eyes. No doubt it was meant to be sympathetic._

_“Though your moon’s blood seems to have returned, in a small variant, it is not a sign of fertility. It simply is a sign of your womanhood returning.” My what? She wanted to laugh at his absurdity. Elia wanted to ask if she’d grown a cock in the time after her son’s birth but refrained, for the wry comment would surely not be welcome and she was already weary of this old man._

_“And?” the Dornishwoman asked impatiently and for a moment, she saw something akin to contempt, disdain and annoyance in the grand-maester’s eyes, but it left as quickly as it came._

_“I had a look at your womb, Your Grace. It is too scarred to bear another child, I fear. My apologies,” he replied and bowed his head. The sight of his balding, white hair annoyed her further._

_“Oh,” Elia replied, trying to cover a smile. That was what Rhaegar left me for. Another child would have killed me, you said. It is not a surprise. “What a shame,” she added, with no sadness to her words._

_“Yes, for the king is in his prime years, most able to father many more children.”_

_“Ah yes, and women are simply the broodmares, are we not?” she grumbled, cursing men and their cocks as well._

_“I did not quite catch that, My Queen,” Pycelle said, squinting and leaning closer to hear her words._

_“I was simply thanking you for your service,” Elia smiled sweetly._

_“Oh, it was of no consequence, My Queen.” No, of course it was not. You are here to serve, you bumbling chicken, she thought._

“What are you thinking of?” Rhaegar asked, bringing her wayward thoughts, back to shore. His slender, large and pale hand was on her sunkissed thigh, gently caressing. _He always did find it a comfort._

“Nothing in particular,” she sighed, leaning back into his hard body. “That Pycelle hag saying that I cannot have more children.” The king’s hand kept touching her softly and murmuring of how the new maester was on his way. 

“That must have been unpleasant, the meeting of course,” Rhaegar said. The Dornishwoman knew that he wanted to avoid the topic of her infertility, for it would always come back to him leaving her, in search of a woman who could. _The_ woman who could. 

“Yes, I never thought I’d have an old man’s fingers inside of me, prodding and poking,” she frowned. “But there we were.” For dramatization, she shivered in disgust and could feel Rhaegar’s chuckle reverberating through his body. 

“I can only imagine,” he wheezed through laughs and Elia joined in, but slapped his thigh. 

“Don’t laugh,” she chided but could not keep a straight face, herself. “I was mortified.” 

“Forgive me, My Queen. I would be, as well.” Though amusement still laced the king’s words. 

Elia simply smiled as she gazed at the fire. It was nice to feel like a girl again, unburdened and untroubled, however short the moments were and however far in-between they came to be. Suddenly, she felt Rhaegar smile against her neck, moving to whisper in her ear. 

“Of course it was not to your taste. You prefer lips,” he whispered wickedly and she snorted, pushing his head away with her hands, feeling his smooth, silvery curls betwixt her fingers and his laugh echo off the walls. 

“As do you,” she countered evilly, turning her head to gaze at him. 

“I enjoy a multitude of things, My Queen. I’ve never been picky,” he smirked but his eyes remained clear, showing that he enjoyed their little banter as much as she did. 

“Neither am I,” she replied with a raised eyebrow, intrigued to what he would say next. 

“You were always sure of what you wanted,” the king replied, raising his hand to toy with the strap to her nightgown. 

“A strong woman should be.” That made a fond smile play on the former prince’s lips, like dancing flames. 

“And you are the strongest I’ve ever known. Along with my mother.” 

“We have to be. It is a man’s world.” 

Rhaegar moved to speak but a rapt knock made both their attentions divert. 

“Yes?” Rhaegar asked, rising and giving Elia a hand, pulling her up on her feet. The person beyond the wooden door turned out to be Ser Arthur, when Rhaegar opened the door. The man’s violet eyes scanned her, before he willed them to turn blank. 

“The Dowager Queen is in labor and she wished for Queen Elia to be fetched.” _Oh,_ Elia thought, _The babe is coming._ The king himself seemed to turn mute, his skin paling as if he’d seen a ghost. Elia knew what it meant. _He is scared. He just got her back and now she may be taken from him, once more. Childbirth is a messy affair and it spares no one._

“It will be alright,” Elia told her husband, placing a warm hand atop his forearm. Ser Arthur eyed the hand before Rhaegar nodded, dismissing him. 

“I will return with your sibling. It will be fine, you shall see.” Rhaegar nodded, his indigo eyes somewhere else. 

***

Several hours of labor to no avail, left the Dowager Queen pale and weak. 

“Shh,” Elia soothed her good-mother, wiping her forehead with a damp cloth. Rhaella’s purple eyes looked defeated, their usual shine gone, to be replaced with dullness. 

“I-I,” Rhaella began, breathing heavily, “Something is not right this time. I feel it,” she finished and sounded so very young and scared. The Queen-mother was not old, only eleven years Elia’s senior. _She is only thirty-and-seven,_ Queen Elia told the gods. _She is only thirty-and-seven._

“Where is the damned maester?” Elia seethed. “Get me the maester!” Grand-maester Pycelle were all they had as of now, even though Rhaegar had sent for another one from the citadel. 

“Don’t leave, please,” Rhaella whispered through cracked lips and her forehead felt too hot when the Dornishwoman laid her hand upon it. “Don’t leave again, Loreza,” the Targaryen Queen mumbled again, before falling asleep. 

“I won’t,” Elia promised, kissing Rhaella’s forehead, tears streaming down her face. “You will be fine,” she promised. “You survived Aerys. You will be fine, do you hear me?” There was no reply but the chiming of the wind. There was a storm tonight. Heavy and wild. 

Pycelle stumbled in, an hour later. 

“Where were you?” Elia hissed at the old man, with his white, wispy beard and small eyes. 

“I was--I wa- ehm- tending to matters of great importance, Your Grace,” he stuttered through bobbling chins and it only earned him a sneer alongside a look of contempt. 

“The queen is the greatest matter of importance,” she spit, wanting to slap the incredulous look off Pycelle’s face, but before she could do so, Rhaella screamed. It was a horrible, agonizing sound, as if she was being torn in half. 

Elia Martell’s own births had been difficult and draining, but when the children came, they came fast. Something was wrong, Elia could feel it creeping over her soul. The babe would not come and it unnerved the Dornishwoman. 

“Is it time to push?” she asked Pycelle and he stared at her for a few moments. “Well go and check, you bumbling fool!” With that said, the Dornish queen turned to soothe her good-mother. The strands of silver-gold were matted with sweat and her face was lined with pain, the remnants of tears streaked her cheeks. 

“Oh no,” the maester mumbled and Elia turned her head sharply. 

“Come here,” she ordered the maester, as Rhaella was in the throes of her pain. She walked into a corner and asked what was amiss. “And do not say such things in her presence, you will only prove to frighten her,” the Dornishwoman added. 

“It seems the babe is turned the wrong way,” the grand-maester whispered. “Which is why it will not arrive. The further time it spends in such a condition, the less it is likely to live. And the mother… such exposure could kill her.” Elia closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. _You must be her strength when she lacks it. Do not falter. Be her dragon._

“Then _fix_ it,” Elia hissed. 

“It is not so easy,” Pycelle said in a voice that made it seem as if all Elia was, was a hysteric, foolish and emotional woman. “I could cut her open and try to save the babe, but make no mistake, she will die.” 

“She will not!” the Dornish queen felt the urge to sob. _She will not. You will not have her._

“Stay here and tend to her, but do I hear the slightest whisper that you even picked up a blade; I will have your hands removed, your cock cut off and fed to the pigs in the yards. Have I made myself clear?” Elia was full of equal parts fear, anger and sadness. She would turn her rage into drive. She would make sure that the Queen-mother lived, if it was the last thing she did. 

Once outside, she searched for Rhaegar who was not far away. He was sitting in the halls, with Viserys and Rhaenys in his arms. 

“Has the babe come yet?” he asked with hopeful eyes but Elia's gaze said what her mouth could not. For a few moments, all they could do was stare at each other, in horror and sadness. 

“What is wrong, Elia?” Viserys asked suddenly, looking alarmed. And then Rhaenys fumbled, asking if ‘grandmama is well’ 

“Everything will be alright, children. It is time you were sent to bed.” 

“But I want to wait until mother has the babe,” Viserys said, pouting. 

“Tomorrow,” Elia tried to smile. “Rhaenys will comfort you until then.” The frown remained on the princeling’s forehead, but Elia walked toward him, bending down and kissing it, watching it unfurl. 

“Will she be fine, Elia?” the boy asked quietly and she simply stared into his lilac eyes and nodded. 

With that, the Dornishwoman gestured for Melly to take them to their chambers, beckoning Rhaegar forward. 

“What is happening?” he asked nervously and Elia sighed, touching his shoulders. 

“The babe is turned the wrong way and all that old man says he can do, is cut her open. We need another maester and we need it quick. How far away is Maester Gerardys?” The king ran a hand through his silvery locks and frowned, rubbing his temple with his hands. 

“The last I heard; almost at the border.” _Good, good, then there is still hope._ “But there is a storm out,” he said, his voice cracking at the ends. “It has already ravaged Dragonstone.” 

“We must send your fastest rider to get him, Rhaegar. Perhaps he can do what Pycelle can’t. I will not have him kill her but there is no time. We _cannot_ let him kill your mother,” she whispered, leaning her head against his chest, feeling his warm arms embrace her and his soft lips kiss the top of her head. Elia even heard him sniffle. 

“No we cannot,” he agreed, sounding so very broken. “I will get to it at once.” Then his arms were no longer around her. With a final kiss to her forehead, he left snapping at the Kingsguard to follow. 

After three hours of reassurance, of Pycelle’s fumbling movements, of hot beverages and blankets and quilts and broken spirits, the new maester entered, drenched in rain but otherwise alright. _He is young,_ she noted, _perhaps that is a better thing._ The dreaded hour of the wolf had arrived and with it, came no comforts. 

“What seems to be the case?” Maester Gerardys asked, shrugging off his woolen coat to reveal two glimmering links beneath, hanging on a silvery chain. 

“Th-” grand-maester Pycelle began but Elia cut him off. 

“The babe is turned the wrong way,” she breathed. “It will not come. Please tell me that you can be of use, that you know something that _he_ does not.” The young man’s eyes were a guileless blue but he nodded. 

“I must examine her,” he said and Elia nodded. 

“I have already ex-” 

“Shut up,” Elia snapped. “Take your leave somewhere close. We will call if you are needed.” 

“My quee-” Pycelle began, stuttering, “I only,” 

“Leave,” she told him again. “Before I make you and turn my threats into reality.” With his stooped back and fumbling ineptness, the old man took his leave. 

Rhaella was sweating and writhing, her matted hair clinging to her forehead. _What songs can be sung of this?_ Elia wondered. _Women die in this bloody bed but no one remembers them. Those killed by their husbands._ Having a child was akin to gambling for a woman. No one was very certain of what the outcome would be, yet the bet was placed all the same. _Not by our hands, but by their cocks._

“It will be fine,” The Dornishwoman promised her good-mother tearfully. “Maester Gerardys is here now, see. He will fix this, I promise.” 

“What can you do?” Elia asked once she was at the maester’s side. He looks worried. _Very worried._

“The babe is indeed in the wrong position, Your Grace and I-I,” he began. 

“What can you do?” she asked again, more sharply. 

“The grand-maesters would have me cut it out, I am sure but… there is one method. It is highly controversial and only works in half the cases I’ve seen,” he whispered, looking aghast. 

“What is it?” Queen Elia asked, almost feverish in her way of asking. 

“I would need to push the child further in and try to turn it, by help of pressing against certain places of the stomach. There are no guarantees and the grand-maester Pycelle would have my head for even suggesting it.” The Dornish queen moved to speak but Rhaella beat her to it. 

“Do it,” she croaked. “Save my child. Whatever it takes.” 

“We will save you too,” Elia said fiercely. 

“It will hurt,” Maester Gerardys warned. “A lot. I would have administered milk of the poppy, but it would harm the babe.” 

“It is fine,” the Targaryen queen whispered, “Elia is with me.”

“I am,” she promised, moving to her good-mother’s side and crouching down by the bed, clasping Rhaella’s clammy, pale hand in her own and kissing the top of it. 

“Soon you will have your babe.” The Dowager Queen nodded and Elia gave Maester Gerardys the signal to begin. 

The screams were like nothing she had ever heard. They were excruciating, harrowing sounds that would haunt Elia in her dreams. _Was this what I sounded like?_

“Lift the shift up,” the young man beckoned Elia and he moved to stand up, placing a hand at the top of her belly and pushing, twisting his other hand at the same time. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Elia whispered with tears streaking her cheeks, clutching Rhaella’s hand and stroking the brittle hair out of her forehead. All she received was a painful wail, as the woman’s face contorted in pain, once again. 

“How long will it take?” Elia asked him desperately, her heart beating erratically. _Let her live, let her live, let her live._ How the Gods worked, she would never know. _You let good men die and the bad ones live. Do not take her, I will not let you. She suffered so much, you will not rob her of her life and joy, you WON’T._ The maester turned to look at her with glazed eyes.

“Soon, we are done soon, I promise, My Queens,” he replied, pushing against her belly. “We are nearly there.” There was barely any strength left in the Queen-mother. The parts of her that were not bone-white, were flushed crimson and the look in her eyes… Elia shivered. _I do not ever want to see that look again._

“Please,” Rhaella begged as she wailed, “Please.” 

“It will be over soon, good-mother.” Elia kissed Rhaella’s hand and winced as the woman screamed again, haunting even the ghosts in the castle. A gasp was heard but it was not from any of the women or maids. 

“I think…” the maester began, “I think I did it…” When he pulled his hand out of the queen, Elia noticed that it was covered in blood. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“You did or you did not?” she asked sharply and the maester swallowed, sighing in relief.

“I did,” he breathed in awe. “Push, you must push now, My Queen,” he told Rhaella and she shook her head dazedly. 

“I can’t,” she murmured, “I can’t.” 

“You can,” Elia told the woman fiercely. “Only a few more strokes of pain and you will have your babe. A sweet prince or princess to hold to your chest.” The Dowager Queen smiled dazedly, looking up into the ceiling. 

“I will,” she mumbled. 

“Yes, now sit up, I am right here. You may squeeze my hand as hard as you wish.” 

“Okay,” Rhaella breathed, her grip on Elia’s hand, never loosening. Then she pushed and huffed and puffed. 

“How is it going?” the Dornishwoman asked after a few minutes of Rhaella’s screaming. 

“The head is out,” he replied, “Only a few more.” Elia felt cold sweat trickle down her neck. 

“Push,” she told her good-mother, “Push.”

Rhaella obliged, pushing even harder, her face turning scarlet. 

“You are doing great,” the Dornish queen soothed. Suddenly, a loud, piercing wail was heard and relief coursed through Queen Elia’s veins. _It is alive._

“You did it,” she told her good-mother in awe, stroking the matted, silver-gold hair. 

“What is it?” Queen Rhaella asked, for they had taken the babe away, to be cleaned. 

“I will find out.” She kissed Rhaella’s forehead. 

The nursemaid was cleaning the babe, wrapping a black quilt around it _. A healthy size,_ she noted. _It will thrive. I will make sure of it._

“Is it a prince or a princess?” Elia asked the homely woman with brown hair. 

“A princess, My Queen,” the woman smiled, showing a few crooked teeth. The Dornishwoman mirrored the smile and opened her arms to embrace the babe. 

“What a beautiful thing you are,” she told the girl, who had a full head of silver-gold hair. The babe stared at her intently, with dark, purple eyes that would surely grow into a lovely violet color as she grew. Gently, she walked over to Rhaella who looked tired and weary, but smiled when she saw the babe. 

“It is a girl,” Elia relied and the Dowager Queen chuckled. 

“What a fuss you made to come into the world.” The sight was beautiful. _The relief after all that pain._

Maester Gerardys had already delivered the Targaryen Queen’s mother-cake, so the blood in the bed unnerved Elia even more. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, touching the pale woman’s forehead. It was blistering hot and made the Dornishwoman gasp. 

“I am just a little tired,” the Dowager Queen murmured, stroking her daughter’s cheek through half-lidded eyes. 

“That feels queer,” Rhaella said suddenly, frowning and Elia removed the sheets to find them soaking in blood. _No, no, no, NO!_

“Maester Gerardys!” Elia screamed for the man and he came stumbling in. He paled when he saw the blood. 

“Oh Gods no,” he murmured. The princess began weeping in her mother’s embrace. Rhaella was pale as death, almost asleep. The expression on her face was eerily at peace. 

“Take her,” the maester ordered and Elia gently took the child from the Queen-mother’s arms. The woman barely moved but as the Dornishwoman stood, Rhaella grabbed her arm. 

“Daenerys,” she whispered with crazed, purple eyes, “Please, Elia, Daenerys. Our little Daenerys.” Tearfully, the Dornish queen nodded. 

“You are not going to die,” she promised her good-mother, her voice choked with grief. “You will tell her yourself.” There was no reply from the woman in the bed. Only sad, purple eyes. 

“Leave, you must leave and I will tend to her.” 

When Elia made it outside that cursed wooden door, she saw Rhaegar sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. The king looked up as he saw his wife and his eyes grew large at the babe in her arms. He stood up and began walking toward his wife. Elia met his gaze and it said all those words that she couldn’t. The king looked horrified, his somber, indigo eyes filling with tears and then spilling _If I speak, I will only weep._

“Daenerys,” she murmured, looking down at the girl, the little bundle in her arms that met her brown gaze, with a purple one of her own. 

Healthy, 

Red-faced, 

A head full with silver-gold tufts of hair. 

Breathing,

Alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also; I've never been present for a birth or some stuff like that lol so I do apologise if that's not 100% accurate... but like, i'll let it be and we can just close our eyes toward the (maybe) inconsistency in it. My experience chalks up to like having watched ER and Grey's Anatomy lol.  
> And roughly thinking *shrugs shoulders* "Yeah that sounds about right." when writing it.
> 
> <3


	11. The purest expression of grief.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She survived Aerys. She will survive this.” He sounded so certain.  
> “None of you ever helped her, no more than you helped me.” Violet eyes turned to her, haunting and beautiful.  
> “We are sworn to protect the king, to obey and serve, to never falter and ask no questions.” Arthur’s voice was haunting, as if it was all a rehearsed speech-- made for the sole reason of allowing him to sleep at night. To try to convince himself that he did the right thing.  
> “You were sworn to protect her as well,” Elia said haughtily, adjusting Daenerys in her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while but here's the new chapter. 
> 
> I don't know when I'll write and post the next one-- I've been feeling quite lethargic and melancholy of late, perhaps it's just because school is on and second year will just leave me a mess by the time it's done because everyone says it's the hardest one and I do think they're correct. 
> 
> Anyways: Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed this story and pleaseee leave a comment down below. I love reading your takes on the chapters and certain scenes and quotes. It's just so endearing for me as an author to read. The longer the better, I love reading that stuff, it's like alcohol for an alcoholic. I want to thank you all for the support you've been giving me and this story (Even if i'm shit at replying to your actual comments, know that I read them and appreciate them so much <3) 
> 
> Also; Lol got my first hate comment last chapter and wow, is this a milestone? 
> 
> Until next time, 
> 
> <3
> 
> PS: Jenny of Oldstones is mentioned in this chapter again and if you want to know what exactly she told Rhaegar, then do check out "Their Songs Of Fire And Blood" chapter 25, because it alludes to that. It's just an extra thing if you want to know the backstory to that. :)

Grief is a peculiar thing, indeed. Perhaps it is even the sincerest form of love. For if you love something so fiercely, that your only response to it being taken from you prematurely, is to weep and thrash and plead for it to be returned, then how can anything else hold a single candle to such a pain? To such a love? Parting is one thing, when you know that it will still be where you left it, but to have it taken so abruptly, never to see the light of day again? That is simply cruel, _and what are the Gods, if not that?_

But to grieve when something has not yet left you, is crueler. Because it is only a waiting game of counting down the hours and minutes until it’s gone, leaving only the memory of it-- the merest hint of a presence. Time might seal wounds, but some never truly close and bleed again, at the slightest of reminder of what was lost. Of what you once had. Elia was in pain, for her grieving was of the latter form. The Dowager Queen was not yet dead, but she might as well have been. 

A fortnight had passed since that dreadful, stormy eve full of misery, pain, sweat and perhaps a tinge of regret. Maester Gerardys said that he had done all he knew of for the queen and Elia believed him. _He said the rest was up to the Gods_ and didn’t she have her quarrels with those cursed deities, who seemed to hurt more than they healed. Rhaella was on the cusp of life and death, that very thin line where no one quite knows what to call it. She had still not woken and was fed nectar and sugared water to keep her body functioning. The fever worked quickly and the room in that bedward had that sickly sweet smell. _The scent of death._

The Dornishwoman visited each day, and once or twice, she’d brought Aegon, Rhaenys and Viserys. _I would not want her to perish without the children having been given the opportunity to show their love and devotion._ Rhaenys always eyed her grandmother softly and refused to believe that the silver-haired queen wouldn’t recover. 

_“It’s not her time yet, mama,” the little girl had said, stroking Queen Rhaella’s pale, limp hand. “I saw it in a dream.”_ The Dornish queen had thought it better to not mention that statement to Rhaegar, _lest he unravels his prophecies, yet again, this time aiming them at his daughter. I will not let it happen._

However, the Prince Viserys had been apprehensive and quiet, with glassy, lilac eyes. 

_“I don’t want her to go,” he’d whispered to Elia after Aegon was taken to the nursery, “Please,” the prince begged his good-sister and it tore her heart apart, leaving it a bleeding pile of crimson in her chest. With kind, brown eyes, she’d stroked the pale haired boy’s cheek. Elia was about to answer, when suddenly her daughter’s arms were around him, a mess of tiny limbs and dark hair._

_“Don’t be sad, Vissy,” the girl mumbled and her uncle bent down, picking the princess up and holding her close, kissing the side of her head._

The prince was not averse to his sister and both Elia and Rhaegar had made sure that Viserys knew it was not little Daenerys’s fault that his mother was ill. 

_“Childbirth is akin to battle, brother. A different kind, yet not so different at all. Some do not live to tell the tales, yet our mother is strong. She will persevere,” Rhaegar said, his deep voice choked with grief and false comforts._

_“It is not your sister’s fault. No more than it was Aegon’s fault that I almost perished. Do you understand?” Elia asked the boy who was chewing on his bottom lip, a habit he’d no doubt picked up from his brother._

_"Yes,” he murmured with his eyes cast down. Elia bent down and tilted his chin upward, with a gentle finger, beckoning him to look into her eyes._

_“She is a sweet and gentle thing. You are her brother, be her brother, Viserys.” He nodded but Elia felt forced to continued. “Rhaenys adores having a girl, in this family of men. She already loves our Daenerys, so should you.”_

_“I do,” Viserys said, with a quiet strength, “She is of mother.”_

This midday, the Dornish queen brought the infant with her, to visit Rhaella. Pycelle had advised her against it, moaning of how the sickness could transfer to the child and make her ill. Elia had told him that this was not the Shivers, it was childbed fever. _I should be the maester, not that old fool._ Daenerys was gurgling in her arms, making all those sounds that babes do. It reminded her of Aegon when he was younger, and she surely resembled her nephew, with the wispy tufts of silver-gold hair and purple eyes. _Such delicate features, as well, she has Rhaegar in her lips and nose, Viserys in her smile and hair._ The king’s hair was paler than both his siblings, an unusual color indeed, even for a Targaryen. 

“That is your mother,” she told the babe, turning it toward Rhaella, careful to support her neck, “You must give her the strength to stay with us. She deserves to know the joy of you.” The Dowager Queen looked pale and weak in that large, wooden bed. _Was that what I looked like? As I was recovering from birthing Rhaenys? When I almost died to give my son life?_ Daenerys kept a steady gaze on the woman in the bed, with her large, unworldly eyes that contained an ocean of beauty. 

Elia wished that she could have been able to say that the visit with Princess Daenerys woke the queen from her slumber, that it breathed a new life into that room of death. _But that is what happens in songs and poems. Reality is different and harsher._ After an hour of mindless chatter, where the Dornishwoman told her good-mother of all the antics her son and grandchild got up to. Of how Balerion was growing ever fatter, but somehow also kinder toward strangers and how the cat had not bitten Rhaegar for quite some time now. Although it stilled hissed at the king on the occasion. 

“They miss you, though,” she told her good-mother, placing a warm hand atop Rhaella’s cold and clammy one. “You must come back to us. It is not your time. You of all, deserve your soft and sweet ending, one filled with light and warmth. You have been so good and it is your right, damn anyone who says otherwise.” 

After that, she kissed her good-mother’s temple and departed the bedward. Arthur stood guard outside, being chosen to accompany her for the better part of the day. 

“How is she?” he asked quietly as they were moving to the nursery, where Daenerys was to be fed. Elia turned to look at the silver-haired man, similar to her husband, yet so awfully different. _He belongs in the depictions of the Valyrian Gods, perhaps he was one in an earlier life._

“The same, I fear,” Elia sighed, looking at him with tired, brown eyes. She did not sleep much these days, always strangely afraid that she would wake up and be told of Rhaella’s passing. “I don’t want to lose hope but I am losing it, nonetheless.” For a second it seemed as if the knight was going to put an arm on her shoulder, perhaps stroke her cheek comfortingly, yet he seemed to decide against it. _At least he respects our boundaries, that we must not fan, that which can grow to be a raging fire._

Part of her would always love him, as part of her would always love Rhaegar but time does not always heal wounds. _It can close them, protecting them from festering but the scar will always remain there. Reminding you of what occurred._ The girl she was loved Arthur Dayne, her gallant knight, the Sword Of The Morning. _But that girl is dead and all that remains is her ghost._ How the queen longed to be so carefree again, though. _When we were not a mess, filled with these complicated feelings and having to tend to these grievous matters that kill us._

“She survived Aerys. She will survive this.” He sounded so certain.

“None of you ever helped her, no more than you helped me.” Violet eyes turned to her, haunting and beautiful. 

“We are sworn to protect the king, to obey and serve, to never falter and ask no questions.” Arthur’s voice was haunting, as if it was all a rehearsed speech-- made for the sole reason of allowing him to sleep at night. _To try to convince himself that he did the right thing._

“You were sworn to protect her as well,” Elia said haughtily, adjusting Daenerys in her arms. 

“Yes,” he agreed, “But not from him, we weren’t.” 

“And what if she had been me?” Elia asked, knowing that it was cruel of her to do so. “What if Rhaegar had forced himself on me in such a crazed manner? What would you do then, knight of the Kingsguard as you are?” 

“El-” the knight began but she shook her head softly. 

“-Answer me.” They were close to the nursery, but Arthur remained silent for a few moments. Queen Elia feared he would not reply at all, and what would hurt more? _Him saying it, or him not saying it?_

“Nothing, knight of the Kingsguard as I am,” he allowed through a deep voice and she felt something twist inside of her. _Well… now that is cleared up._ She tried to muster up a smile for the babe in her arms but it came out as a grimace. Suddenly, she noticed that the knight had stopped and turned to look at him with glassy, brown eyes. 

“Why did you stop?” she asked, trying to sound indifferent. 

“And everything,” he continued with burning, violet eyes, “Friend of you, as I am. Loyal to you, as I am. I would kill him, no doubt. Even if it took my head, as well.” 

“How chivalrous,” she replied, casting her eyes downward to meet Daenerys’s violet orbs, “If only one of you had been so devoted to my good-mother.” 

“Yes,” the knight sighed, “If only.” Then, they resumed walking. “I failed you twice, already. I will not do it again.” 

“Even if I hurt you? Even if I step on your heart until all that remains, is a bloody mess of pain and anger and grief?” 

“Even if you do all of that.” 

“How I wish I could believe you, Arthur. How I genuinely do.” 

“You are the sun. I would die without your light, and I will settle for a few specks of your rays, however few and far in-between that they are.” 

“Beautiful words,” she murmured, looking at Daenerys and her violet eyes, “Poetic and lovely. But we are not poets. We are knights and queens and this is not like the songs.” He made no reply, for what could he say to that?

“Thank you, Ser,” Elia breathed before entering the nursery and saw her lost love nod, in the corner of her eyes. The chamber was dim but she made out Lyanna’s form, sitting in one of the chairs, rocking her son softly in her arms. The wolf-girl’s head turned to meet Elia’s and she greeted the fellow queen with a smile. 

“I have not seen you for some time,” the Dornishwoman murmured, placing the Targaryen Princess in her cot. 

“I am trying,” the girl said so quietly. 

“You will have to try harder,” Queen Elia sighed, “This is no easy time for either of us but we still have our duties and must tend to them. There is little time for children’s games, I fear.” 

“I held court this morning,” the Northern girl said hopefully, as if she was a child begging for reassurance and praise. 

“It is a most dreadful affair,” Elia cracked a slight, wry smile. “How was it?” 

“They did not make japes to my face and I only heard two or three ladies giggling and snickering, so I suppose that I should count myself lucky.” 

“It will get easier as time goes on. Command with your presence, do not serve and they will bow before you.” 

“You always have the greatest advice to give,” the girl smiled.

“How is the Dowager Queen?” Lyanna asked, frowning softly. _She looks more content, still frail and delicate but the dark shadows underneath her eyes are gone and she has begun filling out her gowns more._

“The same,” Queen Elia said, so sadly, “I do not know what I will do, should she fail to recover.” 

“We must have faith in her strength and the Gods will allow her to stay amongst us,” the young queen said and Elia wished to laugh at the naivety of the young. 

“The Gods are cunts,” The Dornishwoman said bluntly. “If they were just, they would not have made Rhaegar commit his follies. If they were good, they would not force me to look upon my daughter and son and see them dead. If they were kind, they would not have made me delicate of health, unable to bear my husband a third child. And if they had the _slightest_ shred of decency, they would not do this to Rhaella, a woman who has suffered so much-- All because she was mindful of her duty.” Lyanna looked as if she was too nervous to speak, so she did not say anything at all, but remained quiet for a few moments. 

“She is a good woman,” the Northerner said, finally, “And a good mother. Fuck any God, be they old or new, if they decide to take her.” 

“That’s the spirit,” Elia smirked, “Turn your feelings into drive and you will thrive, do not doubt it.” 

“Thank you,” the girl murmured, looking down at the son in her arms, “Most women would plot to harm me or my child, but not you. Not you.” 

“Those are childish games of spite, cruelty and scorn. The past has been written, the ink is already dry. What can I do to change it? Why should I aspire to cause more strife and grief and pain? I want to rest,” she sighed, “I want to watch my children grow in harmony, for them to receive everything they want out of their life. Sometimes I feel as young as Daenerys and as old as the castle itself. There is no strength in me for such acts, nor do I harbor such a hatred in my heart.” 

“You are better than most, then.” Grey eyes met her brown ones and they looked so young and uncertain. Elia was reminded yet again, that this girl was barely a woman. 

“I’d say I aspire to be decent. You won’t find much of it in this court, I fear.” 

“I have you… It is enough.” _Oh, child. Do you now?_ The Dornish queen sighed sadly. Lyanna looked happier, but as if something was gnawing on her. _Perhaps things between Rhaegar and her have grown furthermore strained._

Elia sat down on the empty chair beside Lyanna, reaching out a tanned hand to stroke the pale prince’s cheek. 

“You’ve not visited Rhaella.” It was not a question but more of a statement. 

“No,” the girl confessed. “What good would my presence do there?” 

“You could bring Aemon. He is her grandchild and she loves him, just as well as Aegon and Rhaenys. She must needs be surrounded by people who love her. We were all starved of it, for so long. Love should be a right, but it is little more than a privilege for the few, in this world.”

“Alright,” the Northern queen said after mulling it over, “I shall.” 

“Good,” Elia smiled and it was sincere. 

***

“The progress will have to be delayed until further notice,” Rhaegar told her, not looking up from his papers. The king looked tired and weary, and behaved as if he was not truly there. The Dornishwoman had seen this behavior before, when he was obsessed with his prophecies, but she knew that this was not it, yet it did not fail to unnerve her. 

“I know.” She spoke the words ever so softly, “I put a halt on the arrangements after…” Elia swallowed loudly, unable to say the words. _Of course it was to be put on hold, I would never leave, knowing that she may die._ His indigo eyes snapped up and met hers, yet they seemed so dull and lifeless. 

“Was there anything else, Elia?” he sighed, “I fear I am not in the spirits for company, just now.” She’d barely been able to catch glimpses of her husband in the fortnight since Rhaella’s further decline. The servants said that he most often refused meals and refused company. _I wonder if he scorns his young wife, as well._

“No you haven’t been for weeks now and you cannot hide in these chambers forever, Rhaegar,” the Dornish queen told him, not unkindly. _He is losing his hope. He had it in the beginning, we all had, but now…_

“I am not _hiding_ in these chambers,” her husband said through gritted teeth. 

“You haven’t been attending your small council meetings, you do not hold court nor mingle with your subjects. You _are_ hiding,” she hissed back, the stress of everything simply spilling from her in waves, crashing down upon who was unlucky enough to be in the center of it.

“I am still ruling,” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. 

“The people will not understand that unless they see you. Or they will like as not begin calling you the hidden king.” 

“I do not care what the people think,” he spit, “Let them think.” 

“That is childish petulance and you are not a child, Rhaegar. You are a king, act like one! Your mother is ill, and we are all hurting but it does not absolve us of our duties!” The king rose, his face flushed with anger. “I cannot even talk to you when you are like this!” she flailed her arms in incredulance. 

“And what would you have me do? How would you have me act? As if nothing is wrong?” he shouted in his deep voice, causing her to wince. “My mother is dying!” 

“So is my brother!” she spit, “Slowly, but he is dying nonetheless _and_ suffering. What can we do? I have children, I cannot grieve for the rest of my life. We must accept the things we cannot change and allow it to give us the strength to move forward.” Rhaegar eyed her wildly, twenty flares inside those indigo eyes. 

“He is dead,” Rhaegar said angrily, his words almost a growl as he banged his fist against the wooden table, causing an empty goblet to fall onto the carpeted floors, “But he is _killing_ her. He is _still_ hurting her.” Both of them knew who he was speaking of, they needn’t have named him to understand the hopelessness of the king’s words. 

“Yes,” Elia agreed weakly, for what else could she do? 

“I wish to be alone now,” he spoke, eyeing her sharply. That husband of hers did not look like a king in that moment, he simply looked like a boy who wanted his mother, one who yearned for the comfort of a parent. _All of ours are dead._ His eyes were brimming with unshed tears and he was biting his lip, most like to stop himself from weeping or sobbing.

“Rhae-” she began but he stopped her. 

“-Leave,” he said and retreated into his chambers, leaving a dumbfounded Elia in the sitting room. 

“Fuck,” she muttered, feeling an overwhelming urge to weep wash over her like the tide. A few tears trickled down her cheeks and she prayed for this nightmare to end, for Rhaella to recover and things to return to whatever semblance of normal that they’d been previously. After a few moments to herself, she departed her husband’s chambers for her own. Elia could not bring herself to care whether her cheeks were stained with tears or not, for her heart was already weeping, what were eyes to that? _Eyes can stop leaking, but it is much harder to will your heart to cease bleeding._

The Dornish queen was met by Ser Jaime standing guard outside her chambers and he eyed her strangely with those emerald eyes, yet refrained from speaking anything other than a courtesy. _It is most like because Arthur is here._ Not minding that, she thanked both men and entered her chambers, not meeting any of their eyes. Once she was safely inside, she headed for her bedchamber and laid down, not bothering to remove her gown. 

Painful tears burned behind her eyelids and a painful sob was lodged in her throat. _Everything is just so wrong, it turned out so wrong. It was not supposed to be like this_ . In the end, she fell asleep, exhausted and weary of the days to come. _Live, live, live, live,_ was repeated as a mantra in her head. As if thinking the words might make them come true. 

When she woke again, it was early morning, the sun had barely risen in the sky and the castle was quiet. Elia rejoiced in this, there were no distractions or any reactions. Silence was the quiet deep she wished that she could keep. For silence just is, and to be is to be. Her handmaids would arrive later on to dress her, but the Dornish queen managed that just as well. _I am not a child, why I need to be dressed by servants and handmaids, is beyond me._

That day, she decided to don a simple dress of red cotton, adorned by embroidered flowers along the sides and sleeves. To accompany it, she chose a golden necklace with amethysts enameled into it. _Rhaella gifted this to me after the birth of Rhaenys._ The thought of her good-mother darkened her already dark spirits. The Dornishwoman did not know what she would do, were Rhaella to pass. _She is my guiding star, what would life be without her? What could life be without her in it?_

Ser Jaime and Arthur were still there, guarding her door. 

“Sers,” Elia greeted kindly and was met by two soft smiles. “I wish to take a stroll in the yards, Ser Jaime, would you be so kind as to accompany me?” The man nodded, looking to his liege for reassurance and Arthur gave it. 

“I will be here until you return, My Queen,” her lost love murmured and Elia nodded, beginning to walk. _I want to get out of here._ The air inside the keep was suffocating for some reason, she just wanted to soar and be free, even if only for a few moments. 

Once outside, Elia smiled at the crisp and slightly cool wind of dawn. _King’s Landing is a sty of a city and it stinks worse than any other, but it is not without its charms._ They walked for a few moments in silence, until her friend spoke. 

“Are you well, My Queen?” Elia turned to him with liquid brown eyes and half-a-smile. 

“We are not in court, Jaime. There is no one around but us. You may call me Elia, it does not make me feel so… inhuman.” The golden-haired man returned her smile and cleared his throat, yet the concern remained, swivelling in those orbs of emerald. 

“Are you well, Elia?” he repeated and she sighed, leaning down to smell the roses. 

“No,” she admitted, “But who truly is?” she rose again. 

“I fear you are overexerting yourself,” he whispered, as if his worries were crawling off of him, all at once. “You’re always with the children, then you are in council meetings, then you hold court and you mingle with the people. It is not for me to judge, I am bound to serve but where are the other queen and king to share your burdens?” His last sentence was barely more than the swaying of the wind.

 _I would not have heard it, would he not have stood so close._ The Dornishwoman was aware that Ser Jaime knew that it was treason to question the other queen, especially the king-- which was why he spoke the treasonous words so quietly. _He is young, he will learn to guard his tongue better, but he trusts me._ And somehow, that lightened her heart, the slightest of bits. 

“I will do my duty without qualms, that was the price that the realm demanded when I accepted that pretty crown atop my head. Just like you did, when you accepted that cloak. It is not easy but what other choice do I have? I will not leave the realm a mess for my children. It is hard for all of us and we are mourning what we have not yet lost. Rhaegar continues his duties to himself and the wolf-girl has begun doing her part as well. I wish it could be more, I do-- but one must tread carefully and sometimes we have to let things run their course. Once my good-mother recovers, and she must,” Elia paused tearfully, trying to believe her words, willing them into existence, “Then things will change for the better and I will give Rhaegar a good clout in the ear for behaving like a child, but then again; he never got to be one. His mother was all he had, so unlike me and Lyanna. Just like you had your sister and Tyrion, even though you lost your mother and with her; the shreds of a father.” 

Ser Jaime listened to her words in a soft silence and she thought she might have seen tears brimming in his eyes, at the mention of his family; but it was gone as quickly as it came. 

“I just…” he began, swallowing loudly and seeming slightly nervous, “I want you to be well. You are too good for this wretched world, so dutiful, even though you’ve been wronged so many times-- By the very ones who were supposed to love and protect you. Even a man such as me does not deserve your friendship.” The Dornish queen turned her eyes upon his green ones and wished to take his hand comfortingly, but even though no one was out, she could not truly risk it. 

“No one is without sin, Jaime, least of all I. Your friendship honors me and I do not care for what you were. It is what you _are_ that I see.” 

“And what do you see?” he asked, sounding like a little boy in a man’s body, as if he had no right to be cared for. _There is something so hopeless about this._

“I see a good man with a kind heart-- even though you do not recognise it yourself. “ Ser Jaime smiled at that but it did not look sincere. 

“You are too gracious and compassionate, Elia, even to people who don’t deserve it.” 

“It is not for you to decide whether you deserve it or not. That right is entirely mine,” she winked and he chuckled lightly. 

They kept on walking around the mud-spattered courtyard, from last night’s rain and the air was felt with a sweetness from the morning dew. 

“What do you think of travelling to Dorne?” she asked him, her words like honey. Jaime shrugged but it turned into a slight smile. 

“I am not looking forward to suffering the sweltering heat in this armor, but I’ve always liked to go there. When I was a child, I would beg my father and mother to travel to the Water Gardens. My mother said that we would but then…. Then she died.” 

“My mother always spoke kindly of yours. She said that Joanna was a good woman, with a quick wit and a gentle heart.” 

“Mine spoke highly of yours as well, I recall her saying that no one shone as bright as Loreza Martell but I think that she was wrong. There is another.” That made the Dornishwoman intrigued.

“Oh, who?” 

“You,” he said, ever so softly, “You do and I don’t know how there can be people who cannot see that. What are their eyes good for, if they still remain blind?” 

“You have the tongue of a poet, Jaime,” she smiled, “Perhaps you should be one. You make my dull colors seem somewhat vibrant.” 

“They _are_ vibrant, and you cannot change my opinion,” he stuck his tongue out teasingly and it caused her to giggle. 

“You are one strange lion, Jaime, I will give you that.” That earned her a cheeky grin. 

“Mayhaps I am, Your Grace, but would you have me any other way?” 

“No, good Ser, I do not think I would,” she beamed. 

After that, she broke her fast with the children and as per usual, they went to visit the Queen-mother. Rhaella had still not woken and there was no change in her behavior or status. Elia told the children to keep their hope, knowing that it would warm them at night. _‘Rhaella is strong_ ’ she’d told them, _‘She’ll persevere.’_

Somehow it felt like empty promises. 

The kind one makes when avoiding the truth. 

Because above all; truth hurts. 

But lies can hurt more. 

***

The routine of Elia’s kept going steady for a few more days and she did see Lyanna in court once or twice, which made her feel slightly hopeful and the Northern queen helped share Elia’s duties, unburdening the Dornishwoman slightly. However, she saw nothing of Rhaegar, except once when he’d visited the nursery briefly. It did make her slightly wroth that he did not see the children more. _They need him. Especially Viserys and Rhaenys._

Yet one night, she heard a frantic knock at her door. Elia was sitting in her armchair before the fire, reading a volume of Septon Barth’s. She frowned, made a note of how far along she’d gotten and rose to open the door. 

“Lyanna?” Elia began unsurely as the young woman walked in, distress apparent on her face. 

“I don’t know,” she began, “Whatever I do, he will not leave his chambers, he has not left for days, nor has he eaten anything.” The girl was close to tears and she looked disheveled as well, as if she’d been tearing at her hair, tossing and turning and weeping. “What do I do?” the girl asked and Elia thought of how young she was. _Seven-and-ten. Eight years has passed I was that young and I did not boast any children, either. Hells, I was not even wed._

“What are you speaking of”? Elia questioned her, “Sit down, take a deep breath and tell your tale,” she bid Lyanna Stark, pointing to the armchair. _Perhaps I should give her a cup of Arbor Gold, to calm her nerves._ After Lyanna sat down, the Dornishwoman quickly poured a cup of wine and handed it to her. 

“Thank you,” Lyanna murmured with clear, grey eyes. 

“Now what has you so worried? Is Rhaegar not leaving his chambers?” 

“He won’t even leave his bedchamber. He’s locked the door and I’ve tried everything, but he just shuts me out. Ser Arthur scolded him once but all Rhaegar did was tell him that he wished to be left alone.” _Fucking hells, Rhaegar._ “It frightens me, Elia. I’ve never seen him like this,” the girl whispered, “It’s as if he is not even there.” _I have seen him like this but never to this extent. Oh, Rhaegar what are you doing?_

“If he will not answer to you or his dearest friend, then what can I do?” she asked the young woman, not unkindly. 

“He listens to you,” the wolf-girl began, “He is different with you, he never acts that way with me. It’s like he worships you.” Elia scoffed. 

“Girl, if he worshipped me, you would not be here today but here we are. Rhaegar is a peculiar man and he’s never worshipped anything but those prophecies of his.” 

“Please,” Lyanna whimpered, “He _will_ listen to you. I know he will.” _He did not a few days past, why would he now?_ “If we lose him now, I fear we’ll never get him back.” There was raw desperation in the young woman’s voice. _Young love leaves everyone bleeding._

“Fine,” Elia sighed, annoyed yet somehow understanding of her husband’s behavior. _Rhaella was all he had when Aerys delved further into his insanity. She was the one who loved and cared for him. The only Targaryen who is older than him, except for Maester Aemon, who is thousands of leagues away. His entire family is gone, except for his brother, sister and children. Lyanna has her brothers, I have my brothers but Viserys is too young to be of an immediate comfort to Rhaegar. He was sheltered from the worst of Aerys, Rhaegar had to see it all._ “Let us depart and force our incessant husband out of his lair.” Lyanna nodded and stood up, but as she began walking, she felt two hands grasp her arm and the girl was almost leaning on her. Elia would’ve snorted in amusement, if she had not been so worried, for the sight must’ve been comical-- as Lyanna was taller than the Dornishwoman by a few solid inches. _I do not have the strength or cruelty to push her away._

When they arrived, Elia immediately entered and bade Lyanna to remain in the sitting room. 

“It won’t be pretty,” she told the young dark brown-haired girl with a sigh as she went into the hall, to reach the barred bedchamber. The Dornishwoman had no patience left for the evening, so she knocked harshly to no avail. 

“Rhaegar,” she hissed, “Open the fucking door and quit these incessant games.” He made no reply from beyond the wooden door, nor were any movements heard. Angrily, she pounded harder but it did nothing. He refused to open it. 

_It seems as if I will have to outsmart him, then._ Walking back to the sitting room with her skirts swirling vividly, she addressed Lyanna. 

“Bid Ser Gerold to enter.” The woman nodded and soon enough, they were joined by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. 

“What may I do for you, Your Graces,” he asked with a bow. 

“Give me the keys,” she ordered him bluntly, with no room for arguments. 

“What keys?” the man asked and the Dornishwoman rolled her eyes. 

“I _know_ you have them, Ser Gerold and my patience is running _this_ thin,” she seethed, pausing to show her thumb and index finger almost touching, but for a thin slit of air between them. “So _fetch_ them. That is an order from your queen.” The Lord Commander seemed torn on what to do, wondering if he should obey the king he had not seen for days, or the angry queen in front of him. “Did I stutter, Ser Gerold? You followed my husband’s orders when he was Crown-prince so dutifully, now follow mine because I am no longer a princess!” After a few silent moments, he nodded stiffly and receded, to gather the keys that she knew that he had. _It is tiresome, being one of the only ones with a shred of common sense in this castle,_ she thought with wry amusement. 

As they waited for Ser Gerold to return, Elia and Lyanna sat in a thoughtful silence. The waves of fear and confusion radiating off of the wolf girl were palpable, so vivid that the Dornishwoman could almost touch them. 

“It will be alright,” The Dornish queen broke the silence gently, as if she was soothing one of her own children. “You are young. It may feel as if your world is ending. It is not.” Grey eyes met hers and they looked so very guile and vulnerable. Nonetheless, she nodded. 

The Lord Commander made his entrance just then, carrying a circlet with at least two dozen keys on it. He picked one out and gave it to Elia who nodded. 

“Fetch whatever is available from the kitchens and have a tub brought and filled. I have a feeling he will wish to bathe.” _Let us hope the burden does not fall on me._ Lyanna rose in action, most likely going to the kitchens and Ser Gerold nodded and departed, joining the Northern queen. _Now comes the confrontation, why must it always be I?_ She wondered dryly. 

With deft fingers, she unlocked the door and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. It was completely dark, but for the fire burning in the hearth, giving the room an ominous feeling. Rhaegar was shirtless, sitting on the furs and looking into the fire. She saw the outline of his pale back and his matted, silver-gold hair. 

“Rhaegar,” she called but he did not reply, it was as if he had not heard her in the first place. “Rhaegar,” she called again, louder and more impatient than earlier. 

Indigo eyes turned to her but it was not her husband she saw. It was not her husband. She dropped the key to the floor, where it clinked loudly but the Dornishwoman barely heard it. She could almost smell the roasting flesh, the screaming men, the threats and insults. Her breathing quickened and her heart raged wildly against her chest. _Stop, he is dead,_ she told herself but it was as if her body still thought Aerys Targaryen lived. 

Elia tried to steady herself with a hand to her chest but her eyes would not leave his burning indigo that seemed more purple now, than they’d ever been. 

“I do not want company, I told you. I told all of you!” _Thank the Gods,_ she thought because his voice was still the same, albeit slightly raspier. _Aerys’s was never more than a growl full of contempt and disdain._ His eyes looked wild and a beard had begun growing, covering his cheek and chin in strands of silver-gold, darker than his hair. Somehow, Elia felt all her fear turn into anger. 

She moved to him purposefully. 

“Get up,” she hissed, “Get the fuck up now!” He would not budge so she pushed him with her hands on his back, urging him to stand. When he refused, she felt hot tears trickle down her cheeks, full of both fear and anger. So, she slapped him hard across the cheeks, just like his mother had, so many moons ago. The crack echoed like the crackling fire in the hearth and for a moment, she really thought that perhaps Aerys was not dead after all. _Jaime killed him, Jaime killed him, Jaime killed him, breathe,_ she told herself. _Breathe. This is Rhaegar, he plays on his harp and sings sad songs._

Rhaegar grabbed her wrist harshly, grasping it so tightly that it was beginning to hurt, feeling as if her wrist was bending. _He is not himself, he is not himself._

“Snap out of it!” she begged him, no screamed at him. “You are hurting me,” she wrenched her hand out of his and was crying now, rubbing her wrist with her other hand. With her distress and weeping, something seemed to click within him and his eyes met hers, but they were not crazed and devoid of humanity any longer. Perhaps the king saw Rhaella in his wife, how she would beg and plead for her husband to stop. _He never did stop, though._

Her husband looked horrified with himself and stood, taking several paces away from her as he watched her steady influx of tears. He looked at his hands and then back at his wife, indigo eyes shining like blue-purple crystals in the fire. 

“Oh fuck, Elia,” he croaked weakly as he saw the way she clutched her wrist, the frightened look in her eyes. Rhaegar moved toward her, perhaps intending to soothe her, but her body had a mind of its own, backing away instantaneously, shaking as the tears refused to take their leave of her. The Dornishwoman closed her eyes and balled her hands into little fists at her side, breathing loudly and trying to forget the screams echoing in her head. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I am so sorry, Elia,” he begged her and she jerked, wincing as warm arms took hold of her gently and pulled her to his chest. The Dornishwoman was still shaking as he hushed her, his hand on the back of her head, holding as if she were his lifeline. 

“I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating tearfully, as if he had no other words to say it. His wife remained limp in his grasp, still as a statue of marble. _It is only Rhaegar,_ she told herself. _Aerys is dead, Aerys is dead. It is only Rhaegar, it is only Rhaegar. He would not hurt you, he would not hurt you. Not in that way._

After a few more moments in his desperate embrace, her husband disembarked and they simply stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Elia stopped crying somewhere in the midst and her body calmed, but she was still wary. _He looks so haunted,_ she noted, _and he has lost weight._ The king looked thinner, although he was still surpassingly light and strong, the muscles on his stomach heaving up and down as both wrestled with the ghost of their past-- The shadow between them. 

“I look like him,” Rhaegar began brokenly, his eyes defeated. “I _am_ him,” he continued, tears running down his cheeks. Elia knew that it was his worst nightmare to be like his father or to remind people of Aerys Targaryen. 

“You are not,” she replied fiercely. _He is not. He is not his father, he could never be. He is not, he is not, he is not._

“I frighten you. I hurt you. I don’t want to frighten or hurt you, please believe me, please,” he begged. 

“Stop this madness, then,” she told him, putting a hand on his heart. “You are Rhaegar Targaryen. I know, do you?” 

“I want my mother, I do not want to look like him. I just want things to go back to the way they were a few moons ago. We were content, on the way to being…” her husband faltered.

“We can shave your beard. You needn’t share that with him and you take after your mother more,” she told him warily. 

“Elia,” she heard a voice call from behind her. With a final steady gaze at her husband, she turned around to be met by the she-wolf of Winterfell. The young woman held a tray of fruits and bread. 

“Please put it on the table,” the Dornishwoman beckoned her sister-wife and Lyanna abided. For a moment, the wolf-girl looked at her husband and something akin to hurt was swirling in those grey eyes, Rhaegar simply looked down, unable to meet the woman’s eyes. Softly, Elia of Dorne padded over to the young woman and patted her arm. 

“Perhaps you should go to sleep, dove. I do not think he is ready to face you, or anyone for that matter.” 

“He faced you,” she whispered and looked sad. _We both share that common ghost, it is easier when someone understands._

“I know Rhaegar in a different way. There is a ghost between us, cruel and mad and he takes no prisoners. Be grateful that you are spared of that grief and knowledge.” _She saw Aerys once and never personally. We had to live with him, Lyanna is to count herself fortunate that she needn’t ever have witnessed that horror._

“Ser Gerold bade the servants to place the tub in the bathing room. It should be filled by now, I will retire to my own chambers, then.” Lyanna did not meet Elia’s eyes and moved to leave, before turning back and placing a docile kiss on her sister-wife’s cheek. 

“Thank you.”

“Sleep well, Lyanna.” 

“What a mess you keep making of things, Rhaegar,” the Dornishwoman sighed, “Now come along.” He obeyed and followed her into the bathing room where the tub of porcelain ivory was placed. She could see the steam rising off of the fragrant water. 

“In,” she beckoned him, “I will ask Ser Gerold to fetch a blade, so I can shave that for you.” Mutely, Rhaegar nodded and she went to ask the Lord Commander for a shaving blade. The Bull was quick and returned mere moments after with the foam, little towel and blade required. 

“Do you need assistance with that, My Queen?” he asked but she shook her head. 

“I have two brothers, I grew up helping them shave.” With that said, she returned to the bathing room which smelled of flowers and something else that she could not quite place. 

Her husband was in the water, staring at the pale marble walls, adorned with gold. Knowing that she would not be able to get a good angle, if she was not directly in front of him, she stripped out of her gown and placed the foam, little towel and blade on the little stool that they’d left beside the tub, where soaps also laid, of different kinds. Rhaegar seemed slightly shocked when she entered the tub, but made no comment on it. Deftly, Elia moved close, straddling him and began coating his cheeks, neck, upper lip and chin with the foam and grabbing the blade. 

“Don’t worry,” she said absentmindedly as she tilted his face upward and began dragging the blade across his neck, “I will not kill you just yet.” That wry comment garnered the slightest hint of a smile from her husband. 

The Dornishwoman worked in an efficient silence, making sure that she got every nook and cranny, it was as much for Rhaegar as it was for herself. _I could not stand looking at him and seeing his father like that again._

“Do not ever grow a beard,” she whispered, looking straight into his eyes of both blue and purple. “Promise me.” 

“I will not.” 

“Good.” 

“Let’s wash your hair,” she murmured, grabbing the vial of lavender soap and pouring it into her hands. His hands were on her waist, holding her steady as she distributed the liquid evenly into his hair, marvelling at how it sparkled like spun silver and gold. 

“You have Rhaella’s hair,” Elia mumbled, feeling the silky tips grace her fingers. 

“Thank you,” he replied because both of them knew what she was insinuating. _Aerys’s hair was more gold than it was silver._

The Dornishwoman bade him to close his eyes as she rinsed his hair with the cup, his hair sticking to his face in an ethereal manner. _A Valyrian God, through and through,_ she mused, _but a broken one, a fallen one. They surely must’ve had one of those._ After that, she washed his body and her own. _The maids will have to do my hair, it takes an awful long time for it to dry properly and I have no wish to go to bed wet._

When that was done, she moved to rise but her husband seemed reluctant, keeping his grip firm but gentle on her waist. 

“Can you just lay here with me, for a while? We can forget everything and just be. For a few moments, no matter if it is a lie.” Elia indulged him. _I just want him to get better, for the Gods to let Rhaella live and our family heal. It is time._ With that said, Rhaegar turned her around and held her, kissing the top of her head as it lay in the crook of his neck. 

“This is the last time I ever want to see you like this, Rhaegar,” she told him sternly. “You must come to the council meetings and show yourself. Show everyone who is king, or they will begin whispering that the hand is, just like they did your father.” 

“They were correct that time, though,” he spoke, ever quietly. 

“Do not let them be, this time.” 

“Okay,” he whispered. 

“I will join you, Lyanna will join you. There is support to be found, you must only reach for it. We are all hurting, your mother is my family and I love her too. This is not easy but we must believe that things will be alright.”

She felt Rhaegar nod and he was tracing little circles with the pads of his thumbs on the sides of her hips. A sudden tiredness enveloped her, even though it felt soothing to be in the bath. 

“I think it’s time to let go,” she told him, “We both need sleep and tomorrow the small council convenes. I might actually slay you, would I not find you there.” 

“I will be there,” he promised, kissing her cheek, resting the side of his face against hers. 

“And visit your mother. Visit Daenerys, your brother and your children. Speak to them, they miss you gravely.” 

“I promise.” Rhaegar paused for a few moments. “I am sorry that I hurt you. I can-” she shushed him. 

“I am fine now. Do not let it happen again or you will find yourself short of a hand, heart… or a cock, depending on my mood for that day.” It was not a time to make japes, but there needed to be some light in their dark and gloomy situation. 

“I would not stop you.” Those words made her sad, in some queer way. _He hates himself, or something of the sort,_ she realised. She knew that perhaps he did deserve the self-loathing but still… it did not bring her the satisfaction that it would for many. 

With that, she rose and wrapped one of the towels around her, fetching one for Rhaegar as well. He was not far behind, Elia only needed to turn around in order to give it to him. Mutely, her husband accepted it and quickly ran it over his chest and shoulders, before enclosing it around his hips. 

“Your gown,” the king murmured, bending down to pick it up from where she’d discarded it. 

“Thank you,” Elia said evenly, accepting the piece of cloth from his hands. 

Next, they headed into his bedchamber, where Elia quickly dried herself and donned the dress. _At least my hair is not wet, except for the ends but that will dry soon enough._ Rhaegar dried and dressed as well, in the new tunic and pants of linen that she had picked out for him. Whilst he was doing that, she put more wood in the fire, delighting in how the flames seemed to lick at her skin. The fire was lulling, it almost set her to sleep in some way. 

As the Dornishwoman watched the flames dance high and low, burning orange and yellow, she felt arms wrap around her and something about it made her heart so heavy. _I want to let go and not bother with anything, but I cannot. I can’t collapse into his arms because he feels no more control of his body, than I do my own. And what language can we share but grief?_ For some reason, Rhaegar had always been the epitome of strength to her, a man who knew it all-- almost a God. _But he does not and there are secrets and feelings that he keeps only for himself, until they eat away at him from inside and force him to crumble._

“You cannot close yourself off until all that remains is a shell of who you are,” Elia mumbled, touching the arms he had around her. “It is nothing but lethal and it may seem to you as if it’s the right thing-- as if you are protecting us. But you are not, Rhaegar. We hurt as much as you and no man thrives by isolating themselves in events such as these.” 

“I lose hope each day that passes,” her husband whispered, “And she was all I had. My father wasn’t always mad, but she was there with me, suffered it with me and it makes me so mad,” his voice cracked, “That he is killing her from beyond the grave. It is no secret how my sister came to be and sometimes… I wish I had been the one to kill him. For hurting her like that.” 

“I understand,” Elia replied softly, because she did. _To watch your mother suffer like that and be powerless to stop it…_ she could not even imagine. _Kinslaying and Kingslaying are the worst sins one can commit, the septons are fond of saying, but who stops the men from hurting their wives? Who stops kin from hurting kin? Why is it only when someone dies, that the damned Gods begin to care?_

“I can’t lose her, Elia. No more than I could stomach losing you.” _Or Lyanna,_ a bitter voice in her head spit, spitefully. “She always guided me back home.” 

“We will not lose her, Rhaegar.” All the Dornish queen could hope was for the words to be the truth. 

“You must also convene with your young wolf, more often,” Elia muttered quietly, perhaps as a way of changing the subject from death to a lighter one. “Do not forget that _you_ wed and brought her here, into a pit of vipers and strange people who are not what they seem. She is lonely and you are all she has. If she is to thrive, then you must guide her, do not neglect her. Bitterness and anger grows from such, when the hurt runs its course. We do not need another Blackfyre on our hands.” 

“Lyanna would nev-” he began but Elia shushed him. 

“-No, not now. But anger, hurt and bitterness does queer things to people and it changes them. Do not let it change her.” 

“Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it,” Rhaegar relied vulnerably, “All the hurt we caused, the strife and grief. It tore Westeros apart and left far too many unquiet ghosts. She warned of it, Jenny warned me.” _Jenny? Who does he mean?_

“It was not worth it, but you did it nonetheless and you must needs live with the consequences.” Rhaegar sighed sadly but Elia felled compelled to ask, “Jenny?” 

“A tale for another time.”

Suddenly, his arms were no longer around her and she turned to face him. There was a soft look in his eyes, the kind that never existed for Aerys. _Rhaegar the silver prince, the one who plays so sadly on his harp._ That was the person he was now, not a king, not a monster or a betrayer. He was the Rhaegar she thought had belonged to her, so long ago on Dragonstone. 

“You are tired and I kept you too long,” he murmured, “I will allow you the rest you need now.” 

“I will wake you bright and early for that small council meeting,” she smiled slightly and he returned it but there was something broken about it. 

“I would never expect less from you.” With that said, he stroked her cheek and leaned down to kiss her cheek, his large hand at the small of her back. Rhaegar’s lips ended up touching the side of her lips and her mouth parted the slightest of bits. Her husband peered at her through his dark lashes that glimmered with gold in the dim light of the chamber. His eyes burned bright and she could not quite name the color, it was purple and blue and purple and blue-- such a vivid combination that made everyone who gazed into them breathless. All the flares and intricacies made her awestruck. _Our children have his eyes and what greater glory could there be? To look like half a God._

His gaze lingered on her eyes for a few moments, as time stood still and then he leaned down to place a soft, chaste kiss on her lips, gently trailing down her chin before releasing her. The air between them had been palpable, the action felt so intimate for some strange reason, when it really hadn’t been. 

“Good eve, Rhaegar,” the Dornishwoman allowed, trying to remain indifferent. As if what occurred did not impact her. Her husband smiled softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

“Good eve, Elia.” 

****

A week later,

When she was all alone in her chambers, preparing for another night of a restless, disturbed sleep;

The news came. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So before I see some "Rhaegar is mad, etc" Lemme just explain my reasoning for the scene. I am a whore for complexities and grey characters, so there's a lot that went behind this for me and as you all saw, little nuggets and clues leading/referring to it has been scattered all across the text. 
> 
> Rhaegar is a man, and he is losing his mother. The only one who was ever truly there for him, the one who guided him and suffered Aerys's delving into insanity alongside him. With losing her; he's losing an integral part of himself and he kind of reverts to a younger form of himself in the end, where he's not a king-- he's simply a young man that is scared and hurting. (Kind of like we saw Daenerys revert to season 1 Dany after she finally got the throne and before she got stabbed by Jon (Still salty as fuck about that). 
> 
> He kind of broke down mentally after throwing himself into work and not thinking about it; but then he did sit down and think about it and loneliness can be a terrible thing. He is one of the last oldest Targaryens and if his mother goes, then he will be the oldest one in the capital. Maester Aemon is too far away to be of help or guidance, except through corresponding via letters. I try to write this story as realistically as I can and I find this scenario very plausible. It is not uncommon for people to break down and have a sort of (psychotic?) episode when dealing with trauma and grief. 
> 
> Elia is not untouched in this either; she shows signs of PTSD (post traumatic stress syndrome) because well... Aerys in general. When she sees Rhaegar like that, eerily similar to his father, it scares the shit out of her and her body reacts of its own accord. Yet they share this grief, they share the ghost that is Aerys; which is why Lyanna could not hope to understand. There is a special sort of trauma that allows her to understand Rhaegar in a way, because she lived through his father as well. 
> 
> Sorry for that rambly mess but it's late asf right now and I have school tomorrow, I was just trying to give a small insight into what I took into account when writing this. 
> 
> As always; this has not been edited but I will (sometime in the distant future lmao) get to it. 
> 
> (And because I'm evil, Rhaella's fate will be discovered in the next chapter)
> 
> goodnight<3


	12. I would trade all my tomorrows, for one yesterday.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Rhaegar,” Elia sighed, stroking his cheek, “Sometimes you truly do sound your age. Showing a speck of the youth you never allowed yourself to live.” Then, she continued, gazing into his eyes. “Our marriage died and withered when you crowned your wolf-queen at Harrenhal. I know that it was for your fickle prophecies, for what you deemed was right, but it does not revive the boundless love that I bore for you. The Greyjoys are fond of boasting that what is dead may never die, but those are not the Targaryen words, are they? Part of me will never cease to love you, yet the Princess of Dorne is dead, it is time you bury her. I am not what I once was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I know it's been a while since you heard from me, but here's the chapter.  
> It's brought to you by "Hollywood's bleeding", "Staring at the sun", (kind of) "A thousand bad times", alongside a speck of "I'm gonna be" all by Post Malone. Great songs, I do recommend you check em' out. 
> 
> This is kind of a filler chapter in a sort of way, in order to move on to the bigger things that I have up my sleeve. 
> 
> It also alludes to historic Targaryens and I've begun part two (If you will), of "Their Songs Of Fire And Blood", titled "After The Dance" which is about Targaryen couples after The Dance Of The Dragons, so it does mention e.g Daeron Targaryen (Aerys and Rhaella's uncle), and Rhaenyra's step-daughter, Baela Targaryen. So feel free to check that out if it interests you.
> 
> I don't know when I'll post the next chapter and honestly, even this one was a drag to get through. I've been feeling pretty lethargic of late and genuinely had no motivation to write it, along with a nasty cold that's rendered me sickly for more than a week. Which is not great when I have a shit-ton of things to do and study for. 
> 
> But yeah don't forget to leave a comment or something on what you thought and a kudos if you liked it and I'll see y'all next time.
> 
> <3

  


The fire was burning merrily in the hearth, basking Elia in warmth. The day had been exhausting and Rhaella had still not woken. It was difficult to maintain hope when the future seemed so dismal and futile. Even the children had begun to give up, with Viserys withdrawing himself to read and draw, barely ever speaking anything but the courtesies that were due of him. He seemed like a different boy entirely. One plagued by sadness in the way that Rhaegar never was. Melancholy was a part of her husband, she refused for it to be the same with Viserys. _He is a happy boy, it is tragedy that plagues him but he was not born in it, nor haunted by its ghosts._ Even Rhaenys seemed withdrawn is some sort of way, so unlike the happy and carefree young girl that she was. 

Only the youngest seemed to be spared of the gloomy nature of their elders. Daenerys was a happy babe, beautiful and gentle, loving the act of being held and cuddled. However, she seemed to be most content with her youngest brother, and whenever she was placed next to Aegon in his cot. Those times that Viserys would spend time with his sister were a magic of their own. The Dornish queen had witnessed it once. 

_“You look like mother,” Viserys told the child in his arms, reaching a tender finger out to stroke the soft tufts of silver-gold hair that adorned Daenerys’s head. Elia was watching the scene, leaning against the frame of the door. It was almost as if the prince was unaware of her presence, even though they had entered together. “But she is not here for you to see it.”_

_The girl in his arms made no reply except that delightful gurgling sound that babes often make. The young prince’s curtain of silver-gold hair acted as a veil between Daenerys and Elia, as he was craning his head down to look upon the child._

_“In truth, you are not so bad and I love you. But mother should be here and I love her too. This was not how it was meant to be,” Viserys whispered and sounded far too wise for his eight years. Far too learned in the matters of a weeping heart._

_The boy remained silent for a few moments, before stroking his sister’s cheek and sighing._

_“You are tired and rightfully so. I have taken far too much of your precious day that includes sleeping and eating and being doted upon.” There was almost a sort of wry humor to the prince’s words. “I will see you another day,” Prince Viserys finished and kissed the top of Daenerys’s head gently, holding her close to his chest for a short while, before placing her in one of the cots._

Seven days had passed since that fateful day with Rhaegar and things had shaped up for the better. Lyanna was actively taking to her duties, trying to manage on her own and only turning to Elia for guidance when it was of utmost necessity. _She wants to prove her worth to this court, she wishes to be seen as the woman she has been forced to become, instead of the frightened child that she was._ However, the Dornishwoman knew that in order for that to happen; the wolf-girl had to die. _Lady Lyanna the wild and willful girl will need to die alongside all those who perished in the war; in order for Queen Lyanna to take her place. A difficult thing, it truly is._ Elia still remembered the princess she once was; the one who had never been to King’s Landing, who’d loved a knight instead of a prince and contented herself with that. 

Rhaegar seemed to have taken on the notion that if he worked hard enough and surrounded himself with duties, their children and his wives, that the darkness would somehow spare him. That if he kept busy enough, then the loneliness would not eat him alive as it had previously, since he would no longer be alone with just his thoughts to hold. For his sake, Elia hoped it did bring him a semblance of comfort and would give him the strength to persevere, should the worst come to be. _He knows that he is a king but sometimes he forgets that he is also a man._

Wrapping her blue robe tighter around her, she rose and stared into the flames. _Some speak of seeing the future or the past in them, perhaps even the present_ \-- yet Elia had only ever seen flames, glowing like tendrils of blue, orange, yellow and copper. _Fire is beautiful, in its own way but also terribly destructive. What a power it has and what utter havoc it can wreak, if used wrongly._ Targaryen had fought Targaryen during the Dance Of The Dragons and that in turn had marked the end of the inhuman power that the Targaryens had wielded, and they only continued to decline. 

_What a world it must have been, when one could see a dragon in the sky and think nothing of it. Maybe the Targaryens never truly appreciated what they had, until it was gone._ The Dornishwoman was aware that it must be true, for why else did they attempt to hatch them again, so very many times? Yet it never worked, not for the purest of Targaryens or the ones with diluted blood. _Of course the line of truly pure Targaryens died out with Prince Daemon and his children,_ she wagered. _His blood had been pure since Aegon the Conqueror’s along with his niece’s, except for that Arryn Princess Daella wed._

Queen Elia did think that Rhaenyra should have been allowed to claim her birthright. _It was that spoilt, white knight who whispered into her brother’s ear, if Septon Eustace’s claims are true, those and his mother. The Princess had the better claim and was raised to rule. Her brother was nothing but a fat drunkard who liked women as well as he liked his wine; free and flowing. Though the Princess’s children had been bastards and borne the surname Velaryon instead of Targaryen, but they were half-Valyrian on their mother’s side, to wed their great-uncle’s daughters._ Oh, how their world would have been different, had Rhaenyra been allowed to claim her crown. _Perhaps Dragons would even have lived this day._ But that had not been the case, and what good does it do to dwell on matters that never came to be? 

The sound of the door to her chambers opening, disrupted the Dornishwoman from her thoughts. She wondered whom it may be, and why they were not announced. Yet all those questions were answered as she was met by the familiar silver-gold hair of her husband’s, However, he was smiling and for the first time since the day his sister was born, it looked to be true. 

“Rhaegar,” she greeted, standing up and noticing that his cheeks were flushed pleasantly as well. 

“Elia,” He replied smoothly, walking toward her and taking her in his arms, spinning around and laughing in relief. “She woke!” he exclaimed, “Maester Gerardys told me that she woke.” The Dornishwoman gasped and pulled away, to meet his sparkling, indigo eyes. 

“You speak true?” she asked, but the chided herself. _Of course he does._

“Yes,” he nodded, tears welling up in his eyes, “I do.” 

“Then what are we waiting for? Let us greet her,” Queen Elia grinned, feeling the heavy darkness lift from her chest. _There is hope yet. For Viserys and Daenerys to have a mother, for Rhaenys, Aemon and Aegon to have a grandmother._ Yet Rhaegar only smiled and stroked her cheek, showing his white teeth and infectious spirit. 

“I thought the same, but Maester Gerardys bid me to wait until the morn, where she will surely be stronger. He says that the fever has broken and she looks to be on the road to recovery, yet we must not overexert or overwhelm her. Small visits with few at a time.” 

“Yes, not all the children at once. Daenerys and Viserys will have to be first. Let us hope it mends your brother’s aching heart, he is too young to be in such pain.”

Elia felt strangely light, as if she was feeling the pleasant buzz after a few goblets of Arbor Gold. The flames of the fire touched Rhaegar’s face with their light and made him seem more God than man. 

“Yes. This is good news, Elia. She will live and we will be alright, I promise. I will take care of us, for I have put too many burdens on you when I acted more like a child than a man grown.” _I cannot argue with that._ “Once my mother recovers truly, we will go on our progress, as I promised.” 

“Good,” she smiled and he simply gazed at her with a peculiar softness, dragging her toward him in a tender embrace, kissing the top of her head. 

“I could not be there for you, even when I tried and I know that I have wronged you far too much. It shames me, but shame will not erase it. Never would I presume to have your forgiveness for any of it, but know that there has always been love for you in my heart, and it will always be there.” _Oh, Rhaegar,_ she thought sadly. _A tenth perhaps, I do not doubt it but like the seasons change, our love has turned lukewarm. Or was it always like that from the start?_ She pondered. Princess Elia Martell, like many others had fallen in love with the melancholy silver-prince, the beautiful Rhaegar Targaryen, who was every inch a Valyrian God. _Perhaps we were always suited better as companions who desired each other and were like-minded._

She pulled back and gazed at him for a few moments. 

“You are not a monster, Rhaegar. I never said that you were but you were a foolish man who committed absurd acts that tore us all apart, from root to stem. And I hate you, for ever putting our children in danger, as you were chasing your shadows. For leaving us with your madman of a father, to be at his mercy.” Her husband looked serious, his hand remained on her waist, warm and comforting. “But still, you are the father of my beautiful children-- How did we make such good children?” she asked before waving it off, “And you are not a bad man. You did bad things, but are _not_ your father and will never be. Understand that. Lay his ghost to rest, do not let him haunt you.” 

“My actions will haunt me for the rest of my life, Elia. And I will never forgive myself for it, so I do not expect yours.” 

“Such a tortured soul, you always were,” she murmured, stroking the side of his face. “Almost like a martyr and it ruined us.” He did not respond immediately, but only reached his hand out to cup the one she had on his cheek. Perhaps it was as a way of anchoring the moment, to keep it within his grasp for a few more minutes, in order to remind himself that he was not alone. _It was always one of your biggest flaws; thinking that you were alone in your burdens, when so many of us shared them._ Wanting to move away from the topic of grief and past faults-- for writhing in the past too much would leave no hope for the future, she of all knew that it would only make it hurt something fiercer, once you thought all the wounds had closed; she changed the subject. 

“This is a time to be happy, Rhaegar. Your mother is on the way to recovery, such a strong woman she is. I do not think Westeros has ever seen her like.” He opened his indigo eyes and peered at her through his dark lashes. 

“You come very close,” he mumbled and she was suddenly aware of his face, inches away from hers and his hand on the small of her back, dangerously low. The Dornishwoman found that her breath hitched in her throat and that she was not averse to it, quite the contrary; she wanted it. Oberyn’s words, so many moons ago rang clear in her mind, so when her husband’s lips touched hers, she found herself mimicking the movements, sighing softly against his mouth . 

A fire seemed to be burning within him as he kissed her, hands in her hair until he decided to lower her down onto the furs in front of the fires. Elia grabbed one of the laces to his tunic, dragging his face down to hers for their lips to meet once again, both breathing delicately. Rhaegar chuckled and smiled against her mouth, resulting in her biting down on his lower lip, earning a hiss, before he broke it, to unlace his white tunic. The Dornishwoman helped him pull it over his head, delighting in the way it tousled his hair. 

“You look like a God,” she groaned, “It is truly unfair.” 

Laughing, Rhaegar reached out an arm and she took it, sitting up. 

“If I am a God, then you are a Goddess. Such are the rules of the game,” he winked, pulling the robe down her shoulders, moving on to her pale shift, deliberately dragging each strap down slowly. 

“Patience is a virtue,” Rhaegar whispered, his lips on her neck, grazing the skin with the top of his teeth. 

“It was never ours,” she breathed and felt his smile on her skin, his pale hands on her shoulder and lower back. Taking the moment into use, Elia straddled the king and cupped his face, leaning down to kiss him harshly. Her husband groaned and hiked up her shift as he continued to move his lips on hers, breaking it only to pull the pale, silky fabric atop her head, unveiling the warm, beige skin below. 

For a moment, she felt conscious of her naked body. The Dornishwoman had borne two children and her body bore the marks, the white as well as the tanned and red ones. Though Elia remained slim, her stomach never truly flattened back to its original shape, and the lower part still had that incessant outward leaning, from the muscles stretching and not retracting to the way they were before. _In my gowns and corsets, I am a queen. Naked, I am only human._ Some would say the Dornish queen was too critical of herself, for no one can be perfect and childbirth had filled out her once delicate constitution, widening her hips and softening her previous harsh curves. As her husband could not boast the bearing of any children, he remained lean and hard and beautiful, like only the Valyrians could be. 

Perhaps sensing her sudden apprehension, Rhaegar leaned in all the while pressing her until she was flush against him. 

“You are fucking beautiful,” he whispered in her ear, leaving searing kisses as he moved down her neck to her shoulders. “You’ve always been.” _Have I?_ She thought, almost sadly but this was no time for sadness. Instead of replying, she worked on unlacing his breeches. _There’s too many fucking laces on everything._

It felt strange, at first-- After so long. _It is almost like he is the prince I thought he was, and I; the princess of a different kingdom-- together on Dragonstone._ Rhaegar still made those little noises, the barest hint of a groan in his sighs. 

“Gods,” Rhaegar exclaimed before cupping her face and kissing her lips as she moved but it was too sweet, too slow, too gentle. It was as if the king wished to savor their moment but his queen wanted something entirely different. _It has been so long and I am not a young girl, filled with delusions of how love is soft and beautiful. The sweetest pleasure goes hand in hand with pain, we always agreed upon that. He was never shy about it before; so why now?_

“Fuck me like you mean it,” Elia breathed through feverish kisses and hands in his silvery, soft hair-- feeling the grip on her waist tighten. His lips trailed down her jaw to her neck, where he grazed the skin with his teeth. 

“So you wish to wake the dragon?” Her husband asked, his voice surprisingly even. 

“Enough with the dragons, Rhaegar, or I might make you bed it yourself,” the Dornishwoman almost laughed but it came out eerily like a whine and turned into a soft sound as he moved to bite the lobe of her ear. 

There was something so rousing about his hot breath against the side of her face and his steady hands, moving so deftly. _I know that it is wrong, that some would call me weak for giving into his touches but what else do I have? He is my husband, and if the least I can get from him is a good fuck, then why should I deny it? Who is anyone to judge? Live my life and then, only then; may you pass your verdict._

Rhaegar withdrew suddenly and lowered her down, flat on her back onto the furs, smiling sinfully when he saw the slight frown that she boasted, which then turned into a raised eyebrow. 

“Take off your breeches, you look like the court fool with them barely above your thighs.” Her husband’s eyes were sparkling with mirth and he gave her an amused smile but did as she bid. Some sort of magic had taken hold of them both, relieving them of the tension, unwanted feelings of doom and general melancholy that called their minds home. 

“I’ve missed this,” he breathed as his lips latched on to her throat and his large hands were cupping the sides of her face as he kissed down her stomach, to her thighs. _Try not being fucked properly for two years, it is you who boasts two wives, I do not have another husband._ Her pride and anger had prevented her from giving into his tragic eyes and wounded heart, but a year had almost passed since his return and however much she tried; she could not hate them. _All I want is to rebuild our lives, to make the realm prosper for my children. That means Rhaegar, Lyanna and I have to stand united, for apart we will only be torn to pieces. It does not mean true acceptance, nor forgiveness. It means that I am wise enough to not cause my children an undue headache, once the crowns inevitably passes to their heads._

Elia was weary of hate and anger and scorn and pity. _None of it will change what he did, for the past is already written and the ink is dry._ But the future remained malleable and if she schemed and plotted; _what good would it make? What would it achieve? Justice, vengeance?_ She was a queen. It would most certainly feel pleasant for a fleeting moment, _yet it can only end in Fire And Blood, and I have no more wishes for war._ Her husband would not steal their children’s birthrights, he had set his prophecies to rest (or so she hoped, for otherwise she might actually kill him). Lyanna posed as no threat and if she suddenly did; then the Dornishwoman would do whatever secured her children best, be it taking lessons in the art of poisoning with Oberyn, or via some other way. _I am not above dirtying my hands, to secure my own blood. People may mistake my kindness for weakness, but I am still a viper of Dorne and it will sting when I make them bleed._

Did she still love him? _Love is a concept for mummers and singers. We are kings and queens, it has no part in our duties._ When she looked at him… sometimes, if only for a fleeting moment, the Dornish queen saw the prince he had been. _Soft spoken Rhaegar, with the gentle eyes and tender hands, who would wipe my tears away when it all became too much._ The rebellion left them both different. It seemed like a fire had rebirthed the Dornishwoman, burned away at her weaknesses and the princess she had once been; in order to become the Queen of Westeros.

Her heart still bore love for him, most of all cherishing the past being that he’d been, but by no means enough for another betrayal. _We could live as equals, side by side-- yet we will only be companions who crave each other. Our marriage may have been a failure; but who can truly call theirs, a success? I will rule alongside him, and perhaps the wolf-girl, if she chooses to take a more active part in governing the realm-- but he will not dull me._ She would not allow for him to. _Rhaenys will not gaze upon me and think that she must be a meek and complacent queen, only good for looking beautiful next to her king. My daughter is just as much a dragon as her brother, and she is the elder, curse the one who would think to stomp upon her. They will rule together, there is no other way. None at all and we must set the example. Damn Westeros, it is time for change._

“How endearing, you’re making me blush, My King,” Elia replied dryly and gasped when she felt him bite the inside of her thigh, blowing cool air on it when she yelped. However, the Dornish Queen leaned back, breathing hard with a euphoric smile on her face. 

“Now that is more like it,” the Dornishwoman inhaled. “You don’t have to pretend here, be who you are. Restraint does not become you, it never did and it will not now.” _We’d never have been in this mess if you’d restrained yourself in the first place._ Rhaegar left a final few kisses before moving to her flushed face, kissing her lips harshly. 

“I never knew you to be _this_ demanding,” he murmured wickedly as Elia tugged on his silvery hair that reflected with gold in the light of the dancing flames. Their eyes met, striking indigo against a brown that seemed strangely red. 

“I have earned it,” she breathed, “Besides, you always enjoyed it.” 

“Oh, I still do,” the king smirked and then his face was in the crook of her neck, Elia’s legs wrapped around his waist and what a rush it was, to feel that high again. 

He was almost manic in the way he moved, but there was something so precious about it. 

“Elia,” he groaned but she barely heard it, mewling softly in response. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” the king repeated each time he pushed, yet all the Dornishwoman could think of was; _yes, yes, there, exactly there._ Then, he captured her lips in a passionate kiss, full of clashing teeth and sounds too scandalous to even begin repeating. She was never one for romantic exclamations during carnal relations, it did not truly fit into that aspect of things, unless it was intended that way from the start. _Love is of the heart, fucking is of the flesh._ Maybe King Rhaegar did not think of it in that unique perspective and perhaps his lines were more blurred. However, the Dornishwoman did. _Maybe one day I’ll change my mind but that is not today._

She spent with a soft moan against Rhaegar’s lips, digging her nails into his back and clenching her legs around his waist before allowing them to fall onto the furs below them. Her husband was not done yet and began kissing down her jaw as he pushed, faster and faster until she felt that oddly familiar feeling between her thighs… almost like an old friend coming to visit. 

“You’re burning up,” she breathed, feeling his warm skin around her, clammy like hers but hot like a fever. 

“Really?” the king mumbled against her neck, not seeming too bothered with it. “Targaryens d-” 

“-Do burn hotter than regular men. I am aware of the expression,” she replied lightly, running a hand down his back, feeling something stick to it. 

When the Dornishwoman lifted it to her gaze, she saw her beige skin tinted rose with blood. 

“It seems I made you bleed.” 

“Did you now?” he asked indifferently, “How scandalous… some would certainly advocate the loss of your hands, for mutilating one of the blood.” Elia chuckled at the jest despite herself, feeling eerily light. 

“I’ll fetch a quilt for you, we do not want you catching the chill, do we?” _You are fire reborn, how can I be cold?_ And then he was gone from her and the pleasant heat was exchanged with the draught of the chamber, making gooseprickles appear on her naked skin. 

“Here,” Rhaegar spoke softly when returned, placing a red quilt atop her and handing his queen a pillow, placing one next to her, as well. Then, he laid down, placing some of the fabric over his waist. 

Elia turned and stared at him for a few moments, which in turn led to the king returning her unflinching gaze. 

“I love you like this,” he murmured, reaching a slender finger out to stroke her cheek, tucking some loose, brown curls behind her ear. 

“At your mercy?” Elia asked and chewed on her bottom lip. 

“No,” Rhaegar shook his head and smiled, indigo eyes both light and dark-- making the Dornishwoman wonder how that can be. “Untroubled. Real and raw and beautiful.” 

“Your mother will live and we will resume plans for our progress to Dorne. The children are happy and your girl of a wife is finally taking up her duties and becoming a woman. Many of my troubles remain, yet the largest have been lifted.” 

“Things are shaping up, yes, and I am still sorry, for most of your troubles are due to me letting you down. It has been hard but I will never put you in those positions again.” 

“I am weary of everyone being so sorry, Rhaegar. You have the skilled tongue of a poet and your words are smooth like honey-- Do not apologise, redeem yourself. _Show_ me and the realm that you are worthy of the crown that rests upon your pretty hair-- the one so many died for. The one your children and I almost died for.” 

“I will, you will see,” the man promised and the Dornishwoman sighed. _For your sake, I hope so. I truly do hope so._

“I want to attend your small council meetings from here on. As a regular attendee, not your queen filling out for the king or simply to indulge me on the occasion. Your council is made up of men, yet half your kingdoms are made up of women. They deserve a voice, for you men never seem to take us into very much account.” 

“Would it please you?” Rhaegar asked softly, his hand tracing down the side of her jaw, to the swell of her breasts. 

“Otherwise I would not voice it.” 

“They will not be happy, but I do not see why not.” _Your fellow advisors can shove a sword up their arses, for all I care about their happiness._

“Good,” the Dornishwoman began, “No doubt you will be a good king, then. I trust you have put your fooleries to rest?” Her husband frowned but nodded after a while. 

“I gave them half of my life and they in turn, repaid me with blood and grief and a realm full of unquiet ghosts. This war taught me that I was but a green boy, thinking I was grown. Aemon taught me that I was wrong, and gazing upon you, my mother and our children each day, shows me what it almost cost. The cost of these lies, fickle matters and falsehoods. ” 

“There is no future in them. Whatever will be, shall be and no one should meddle in such matters. We cannot decide our fates, they simply occur.”

“You are a great queen, Elia. More than I could ever have wished for and I do not know what I would’ve done, were you not to be by my side. I’ve my faults and am aware of how foolish I have acted toward you on the occasion.” His indigo eyes seemed aflame and the Dornish queen nodded, rejoicing in his deft fingers tracing patterns on her exposed skin. 

“I know that in your head, you do everything right but that is not how the world sees it, Rhaegar. It is not what actually occurs. If one thinks they are doing everything right, then they’ve surely committed a few faults that they remain blind to. Know your flaws, use them like that armor you wore to the Trident. Do not ever let them be used to hurt you, for that is when our most foolish acts occur the most.”

“You are far too wise for your years,” he smiled sadly, “And I think that I am to blame for that.” _King’s Landing is to blame for that, not only you, husband. Yet you are to blame for many other things, rest assured._

“I am an old crone at heart,” Elia half-smiled, “They get to say everything that comes to their mind, and their kin will blame it on their age and wandering wits.” 

“I would wish for you to be carefree on the occasion, if even for a few moments. Your happiness is pivotal to me.” _How I wish I could believe you, Rhaegar, I truly do._

“Then what would you call this, husband?” The Dornishwoman rose an eyebrow, “If not a lapse of good judgement.” 

“You feel that way, for true?” Rhaegar asked, seeming slightly wounded and she almost regretted her words. “I thought…” the silver-haired man faltered, “That perhaps we could begin mending our relations. That the lack of aversion meant you were willing, as well.” 

“Rhaegar,” Elia sighed, stroking his cheek, “Sometimes you truly do sound your age. Showing a speck of the youth you never allowed yourself to live.” Then, she continued, gazing into his eyes. “Our marriage died and withered when you crowned your wolf-queen at Harrenhal. I know that it was for your fickle prophecies, for what you deemed was right, but it does not revive the boundless love that I bore for you. The Greyjoys are fond of boasting that what is dead may never die, but those are not the Targaryen words, are they? Part of me will never cease to love you, yet the Princess of Dorne is dead, it is time you bury her. I am not what I once was.” 

“I wish I could take it back, yet I cannot.” 

“You are quite right, Rhaegar. We were always better suited as companions, anyway, I should think. Equals. Ours was never the story of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and Queen Naerys, nor that of Florian and Jonquil.” 

“I still love you,” he murmured, moving closer to her, unil their noses were almost touching.

“Did you not hear me, Rhaegar? I loved you and still do, but what we were is gone and can never be recovered. Let us instead rule side by side. For our children, for the realm.” 

“Was this a means of parting, then? One last fuck before you shut me out forever?” Elia Martell could not pin-point if it was anger she sensed in his voice, or simply hurt. _Is it?_ She pondered. _No. Simply because we will never be what we were, does not mean that we cannot be amiable with each other, that we cannot share moments like these._

“No, Rhaegar. I enjoyed this, just as much as I wager you did. But fucking and friendship does not make a marriage, and it would be foolish if we tried to make it so.” Elia paused for a few moments before continuing. “This is not what it _was_ and you are blinded by the thought of what we _were_ , yet it is like staring at the sun. It will blind you, in the end.” 

“Then what do you suggest we do?” he asked so hopelessly and the Dornishwoman reached a slender hand out, to stroke the side of his face. 

“We rule. You need to deal with your wolf-girl, mayhaps there is still hope to mend your seemingly fragile relations. Your relationship was forged on lust, the fog and haze of prophecies. I know you, not as well as I’d like but I know you, nonetheless and had years to do so. Your quirks, the ways to soothe and please and read you. Lyanna does not, so teach her to. The rest we shall take as it comes, I am weary of trying to carry everything on my shoulders.” 

“You should not have to,” he kissed her lips tenderly before withdrawing and once again, gazing into her eyes. “But I am at a loss when it comes to her, it is all so different now.” 

“You brought her here, into a foreign land with no prerequisites that she could boast. Lyanna is barely a woman and yet she is queen. How do you think it feels for her, when you shut her out and turn to me? It makes her angry and resentful at first, I should think, then I would wager it makes her sad. For she does not truly know you and all she has here, is time. Time to think of her dead brother and father-- lost because of her. Time to think of the son she gave you and the daughter that she failed to. Teach her, Rhaegar, or another Queen Alicent may be on our hands. Thankfully there are no longer any dragons.” 

“You make fair points,” the king sighed, “But Lyanna is no Alicent.” 

“Any woman can become an Alicent and if you do not think so, more the fool you,” Elia told him pointedly, then her voice turned mournful, “But maybe she is a Helaena.” That made Rhaegar’s eyes turn sadder, for he was aware of the story that surrounded Queen Helaena and her troubled life. _Tragedy formed her. By all accounts; the princess had been a happy and good-natured girl._

“I always thought you were Rhaenys, yet now I think you are Visenya, as well.” 

“That is the thing, Rhaegar. We are not Rhaenys or Visenya. No more than you are Aegon. So let us not compare to such,” Elia murmured, “Do you love her? More than you ever loved me?” 

“I do not know,” the king who was once a prince replied honestly. “The strength and willfulness drew me to her. The ice in her blood, the prophecy urging me on. Now, she is but a shell of what she was and there seems to be no way that I can help her.” _Another piece in the wretched game you decided to play as a child._

“Do not let her wallow in that self-pity. It will ruin her. Try to build something on your barren shores, or we will suffer-- she will suffer. A kind word, soothing hand or tender kiss can do much to lighten someone’s heart.” 

“She thinks of me as the valiant silver-prince, the gentle Rhaegar Targaryen who loved her so sweetly. We will never have what you and I do, you understand me where everyone else fails... The way I need certain things.” 

“You do not need to replicate what we had or have to a degree-- it will only make it false. Create something of your own, otherwise she will see through it and it hurts, Rhaegar. It hurts.” _It hurts like loving and carrying two children for someone who left you for dead. Even if he did not intend to, it was what happened and it will haunt both him and I, until the day we die._

“I will try, I promise,” he mumbled. 

“Let us sleep now, I am tired and cannot wait until the morn. Rhaella will live, Rhaegar. Daenerys will know her mother and our children, their grandmother. The horizon is not so hopeless any longer.” A smile took over the king’s features and Elia found herself mirroring it. Then, Rhaegar pulled her closer to his chest and kissed her forehead gently. 

“It will be a long day, I'll wager… and the happiest for many moons.” 

His soft breathing lulled her to sleep.

The fire must’ve gone out sometime in the midst of the night and although it was summer, Elia woke up shivering, when the sun was not yet out. There was naught but ashes and embers left in the hearth and she sighed, rising to move to her bedchamber, picking up and donning the discarded shift. Rhaegar was still sleeping, breathing softly and looking more like a prince than a king in that moment. Those worry-lines etched in his forehead so often, were smooth and his silvery hair was delightfully tousled. _I do not wish to wake him,_ the Dornish queen thought as she tried to tread carefully, yet stumbling slightly on the end of the quilt that was around Rhaegar’s waist. 

“Fuck,” she cursed and looked back, yet the king remained still as a weirwood tree. _Strange… he is usually such a light sleeper._ When the Dornishwoman was halfway to her warm bed, she heard a deep voice mumble. 

“Elia?” 

“Yes?” she asked and padded back to the sitting room, where her husband had sat up, rubbing his temple. 

“I thought you left again,” he whispered and his wife shook her head, brown curls following the movement. 

“I was retiring to my bed. It is cold.” 

“Would you mind if I joined you?” 

“No, not so long as you sleep,” she raised an eyebrow, watching as half a smile took over his fair face. 

“You are in luck; I am still tired.” 

“That makes two of us.” Rhaegar rose and took her hand. Together, they walked into her bedchamber and climbed into bed. 

For a second time, Elia fell asleep and could not help but enjoy the feeling of those warm arms around her, yet this time she dreamt. It was a strange dream, beginning with her husband conversing with her, but she only managed to hear snippets of it.

“Illusions however, are much more indulging, no matter how false they may be, or what treacheries they come to breed.” _Caution,_ a voice advised her urgently. _Be careful with the game you play, it is perilous._ Rhaegar was full of shifting shadows and colors, not quite staying the same; Violet, gold, silver and emerald, red, black, orange and red. _Who are you, who are you, who are you?_ A voice echoed within, yet her mouth would not open, to form the words to ask the question. 

The sun was out when Elia Martell woke, turning to see Rhaegar dressing himself. 

“You looked so at peace. I had no wish to disturb it,” he murmured sheepishly. The Dornishwoman sat up and yawned, pulling the covers off and pondering what to wear for the day. 

“Do you think it will be hot out today?” she asked him, “It is summer, after all.” The king had stopped dressing and was staring at her with half his tunic unlaced. 

“What?” Elia wondered, “Do I have something on my face?” 

“No,” Rhaegar shook his head, leaning forward to place a kiss on her shoulder, “I am simply admiring you.” 

“Were I ten years younger, you may have gotten a blush out of me, My King,” the Dornish queen teased, brown eyes glowing with mirth. _I cannot wait to see Rhaella._

“You are only two years my elder, not even seven-and-twenty yet-- Do not act as if you have seen a thousand years,” the king bit his lip whilst smiling. 

“Perhaps I am, at heart. War ages you,” she mumbled and could almost feel the pleasant mood in the chamber change to something else entirely-- to the one thing that would always stand betwixt them. Wanting the day to be a happy and joyful one, she quickly spoke again. “What gown do you think is best for the day ahead? I was thinking perhaps the blue, yet the laces are a drag and I’ve no wish to be fussed over by half a dozen handmaids.” 

The king walked over to the dresser where the blue gown hung, running his fingers across the blue bodice, embedded with silver crystals, the sleeves made of a see-through silk of the same color. 

“It is lovely,” he mused, “No doubt you will look magnificent… it reminds me a bit of your companion, Lady Ashara. Did she not wear something similar, once?” 

“Yes,” Elia smiled, “But hers was purple. I loved it so well that she offered to commission me one in blue. I’ve only worn it once or twice before, in fear of ruining it, or worse; not doing it justice.” 

“You will do it plenty of justice, My Queen. The color goes well with your dark hair and beautiful complexion. It shall pay compliment to your eyes, as well.” 

“The other I was thinking of, is the red one over there,” she pointed to the lighter one, made of Myrish silk and embroidered with lace at the sleeves.

“I think the blue,” Rhaegar confessed, “It will make you look as lovely as the moon, a queen with starlight in her hair,” he smiled, walking back to her, “And I can help you with the laces. I used to do it for mother when I was younger… But that is a different story… somewhat sad yet precious in nature.” 

“Then let us get on with it, shall we?” Elia rose, “I will only go to wash my face and brush my hair.” 

“And I shall finish dressing.” When she returned, he was looking impeccable, in a red doublet that one of his knights must’ve fetched him, alongside black breeches and a Targaryen brooch of silver, the dragons boasting red rubies for eyes, fastened to his chest. The Dornishwoman gave him a nod and turned immediately for the gown, feeling the smooth fabric in her hands. 

Without a word, she discarded her shift, left only in smallclothes and stepped into the gown, pulling her arms through the sleeves gently and waiting for Rhaegar to lace it. At once, his warm hands were on her skin, deftly beginning to lace it from the small of her back. 

“Do not take too many liberties,” she jested, “I am a woman wedded, you should know.” The king laughed at that, brushing dark hair away from the nape of her neck, putting his lips on her smooth shoulder. 

“I do hope he is treating you well,” Rhaegar mused, lips brushing against her skin. 

“At the moment he is doing a poor job of tying my laces, so perhaps he should get to it. We have places to be.” 

“Is that how it is?” he asked and for some reason, Elia could not stop the giggle that escaped her lips. 

“That is how it is.” 

After a few more minutes of lacing and her husband was nearly finished. 

“This might hurt,” he warned, “You should lean against that vanity.” Corsets were never much fun, but mayhaps the end-results would be worth it. What was it mother used to say? Elia wondered, barely being able to recall it. _Ah, yes; an ounce of pain can give birth to a world of beauty._

“I am a woman, Rhaegar. This is a pain that I’ve been used to, ever since I was a girl in Dorne.” With that said, she still did as he bid

“It never gets more comfortable,” the Dornishwoman winced and sucked in a sharp breath as he tightened the laces. 

“I do feel for you, My Queen.” 

“I suppose we all must suffer a little, all in the name of what men deem beautiful.” Her husband made no reply to that, but instead quickly finished, his fingers working like they would on strings and she was a harp.

When he was done, she gazed into the long mirror and could barely believe the reflection that was shown. The bodice was sparkling and twinkling, catching and reflecting whatever light it was given. Her dark hair fell in waves to the small of her back and for once; Elia thought she might have a chance next to the beauty of Ashara Dayne. The posture was different as well; she stood with a spine as straight as a Dornish spear-- a true queen, she thought herself to be in that moment. 

“I could braid your hair as well, only if you’d like.” _Why not?_ The Dornish queen thought. _It seems I am indulging myself today._ Nodding, she sat down on the plush chair and Rhaegar’s fingers were in her hand, gently collecting strokes of her hair and making a long, yet small braid down the middle of her head, as a sort of continuance to her crown. 

“That feels soothing,” Elia murmured and saw Rhaegar smile through the mirror. 

“I used to braid mother’s hair. She liked it best after she lost my siblings. Told me it made her forget, if only for a few moments.” 

“That sounds-” 

“-Sad, yes it was. But today is not a day for grief. It is a day for joy and you look like both the sun and the moon-- Glowing with life.” The words reminded her of how she’d been born sickly, lived sickly and would always remain delicate of health. _It has gotten better of late, the children give me strength. My purpose gives me strength._

“Maybe your mother will wish you to braid her hair?” 

“Perhaps, or maybe she would like you to do it.” 

“I suppose we will find out,” the Dornishwoman replied softly and saw her husband nod. 

“Yes. All done.” Elia stood up and gazed at herself. _I look presentable enough._

“Why are you sure that you’d not like to be my handmaiden, My King? You seem to do a better job than any of them and somehow… your hands are gentler.” _Lady Lorena is always so rough with my hair, pulling and dragging it. She always makes it pretty, though and she has a pleasant voice to listen to._

“Would my duties allow it, then there would be no greater glory, My Queen. I am overjoyed to have been of service.” The Dornishwoman could hear the mirth in his voice and decided that she liked it better than when he was with his melancholy… _or worse; those damned prophecies._

“Do not be a lickspittle,” she laughed and he rolled his eyes. 

“Only for you, My Queen.” 

“Shall we depart now? To visit your mother?” 

“It is still early but I think she will have woken.” 

“Then let us head out,” the Dornishwoman spoke gently. 

“Yes,” Rhaegar replied with a quiet strength, offering her his arm, which she took. 

_Please, please, please let her be well and thrive,_ Elia pleaded with the Gods. _Rhaella deserves it, after all this grief she has been dealt in life. Take her, and fear my ire._

***

Pale was one word to describe the Dowager queen, fragile was another and delicate was a third. The once luminescent and lovely silver-gold hair looked matted and brittle, and Rhaella’s skin boasted a sickly pale tone, instead of the refined alabaster of most Targaryens. _Yet she is still smiling and there is strength in her purple eyes._

“Rhaella,” Elia murmured, swiftly walking toward the woman who looked too small for the large wooden bed and putting her arms around her. “I was so worried.” The Dornishwoman did not know that she was weeping, until the Queen-mother’s cold hands were wiping each away. 

“Do not weep, my girl, I am here still,” Rhaella soothed, gazing into Elia’s brown eyes with a quiet resolve. 

“How are you?” the Dornish queen began hurriedly, “Is there anything you need? Name it and I will see it done.” 

“I would wish for you to tell me of what passed, as I was indisposed. And to see the children, yet I do not know if I have the strength to face them all, this day.”

“Of course.” 

Then, the Dowager queen’s eyes focused on the man who stood a few paces away from Elia.

“Mother,” Rhaegar began, almost nervously. 

“Come,” Rhaella beckoned, ever so softly and the king did as he was bid. The Dornishwoman moved out of the way, for mother and son to reunite. 

Once in his mother’s embrace, the king let out a shaky breath, sitting by the side of the bed.

“I thought we were going to lose you.” 

“I would have told the Stranger to begone, for I have unfinished business upon this dreadful world, his kiss would have to wait.” 

“Please do not overexert yourself, mother. I know these white walls and faded smells are dull and not prone to inspiring courage, but we need you well. Daenerys and Viserys need you healthy, once more.” 

“I always thought white walls and faded smells were more welcome than crazed purple eyes and burning men,” the Targaryen queen replied with a haunted look in her eyes. 

“I-” Rhaegar began but was disrupted by Ser Gerold entering the chambers. 

“Your Graces,” he bowed and turned to Rhaegar, “Forgive me, My King but the Lord Hand Tyrell has required an audience with you, claiming it is an urgent matter.” 

“Can’t he w-”

“It is fine, My son,” Rhaella interjected, “Elia will stay, won’t you, my dove? And tell me of all that has passed.” 

“I wished we could have more time,” the king sighed but nodded, nonetheless.

“We do. I am not much for company at the moment, anyhow.”

“Alright then,” Rhaegar moved to kiss his mother on the cheek, before turning and doing the same with Elia “I will visit later in the day.” 

“I will be here,” Rhaella murmured softly. 

When Rhaegar had taken his leave, Elia decided to place an armchair next to her good-mother’s bed, duly sat down and placed her hands atop one of Rhaella’s. 

“You do not know how much it means to see you healthy, after that terrifying ordeal. I was so scared, we all were.” The Dowager queen looked at the young Dornishwoman tenderly.

“Your concern endears me, Elia. I only wish that it did not cause you so much pain and uncertainty.” 

“I lost my mother without being there for her, without even knowing it. I would be damned if the same occurred with you.” 

“It was cruel of Aerys to deny you that visit. But he was cruel.” Elia stroked her good-mother’s hand with the pad of her thumb, looking down so that Rhaella would not see the tears shining like little crystals in her eyes. _I never got to say goodbye, she never held Rhaenys in her arms, no more than she did Aegon._

“It was not your fault,” Elia murmured.

Things remained silent for a while, for no words needed to be exchanged. Whilst Elia thought of the mother taken too soon; Rhaella thought of the brother that was bestolen of her, the one she had grown alongside. It was a comfortable unity, one could say of it-- sharing their grief and coming to terms with it. _Nothing can make this undone, and only through closing this dreadful chapter; shall we be strengthened._

“How are the children?” Rhaella asked quietly, “They have suffered so much already, it is cruel that this came upon us.” 

“You had no more control over it than we did, good-mother,” Elia replied, staring into those haunted orbs of purple that spoke of too much pain and suffering, in such a short life. “Viserys took it the hardest and began hiding away, more preferring to read in the libraries, than interact with us… or anyone else for that matter. ” The Dornishwoman paused for a breath and noticed how the Dowager queen’s eyes were sparkling with little crystals, waiting to drop. “Rhaenys is young, yet she seems strangely withdrawn and however much I try…” Elia faltered and cleared her throat, “I only hope that your prospering will heal their aching hearts.” 

“Oh, Viserys,” the pale woman whispered, “He clings to me, because I never allowed him to cling to Aerys. He deserved a father and I tried to give him one, a kind and loving and sane one-- to shield him from Aerys’s changes of mood and depraved mind. This son shall not be like his father, no more than I would allow Rhaegar to.” _What a strength she has,_ the Dornish queen marveled, _not the kind Westeros values, but the one that women must have, when they marry and have children. When their husbands raise hands and insults to them-- when no one ever helps you and you must be your own closest confidant._ It was a woman’s strength. A mother’s strength. _To keep on going, because who else will?_

“Rhaegar lost himself, when no improvement was shown. He crumbled.” 

“What do you mean?” Rhaella asked gently and the words seemed to catch in Elia’s throat. It felt strangely like when she tattled on a boy to his mother, long ago in Dorne. _If you ask me whom it was, I could not say. It was a different life entirely._

“He took to ruling from the closed doors of his chambers, boasting a foul mood and fouler thoughts, I suspect-- Barely ever visiting me, nor the children. Once, he scared his young queen so fiercely that she fetched me, in hopes that I could calm him.” The Dowager queen’s grip tightened and her eyes turned hard. 

“And when I looked at him,” the Dornishwoman swallowed, feeling her throat constrict with emotion, “I saw Aerys.” Rhaella closed her eyes as if in pain and took a deep breath. 

“Did he hurt her? Did he hurt you?” It seemed as if she told the Queen-mother _yes,_ that it would shatter her heart. 

“No.” And it was not a lie per se, “No more than I did him.” A slight relief washed over the delicate Targaryen then. 

“He is a man,” Rhaella began, “Who never allowed himself to be a child.” “He is a king, who was never a boy, and that can be a dangerous thing when it comes to loss. The fault lies with both Aerys and I. Yet… Somehow I think that I am to blame, the most. I should have stopped it-- this foolery with prophecies, but perhaps grief corded me too tightly. For my children who never got to be.” 

“He has himself to blame for all of this,” Elia said, because her husband did. 

“And I do not think he will ever forget it. However, men lose mothers each day, husbands lose wives-- childbirth is a gamble at best and Rhaegar is aware of that. He is both man and child and it does no service to this kingdom, nor you or the children. It is hard to kill your youthfulness, to only be mindful of your duty, but it is necessary. Should I die, he can grieve but needs to realise that he is still amongst the living and _live--_ not leave everything in shambles.” 

“You make worthy points, good-mother,” the Dornishwoman murmured, gazing at Rhaella who looked worried and weary. 

“I will make sure he is aware,” the Targaryen queen vowed, “No Aerys shall be made of him. Another madman will not sit the throne.” 

“Careful,” Elia fussed, “You must not overexert yourself.” 

“Sweet and gentle Elia,” Rhaella shook her head, “My son does not deserve you.” 

“Aerys did not deserve you.” 

“It is a man’s world, my mother told me once, as I once told you. All we do is live in it.” 

“You’ve not asked about Daenerys.” Some color seemed to go into her good-mother’s cheeks then, a flicker of light-- a lust for life. 

“I questioned Maester Gerardys sharply when I woke last eve. He even had the wet-nurse fetch her for me to hold and she is the sweetest of things. Her eyes remind me of Rhaenys, but Daenerys’s are a darker shade.” 

“The princess is ever of your nature and adores being held and cuddles, most of all by Viserys.” 

“He is kind to her, is he not?” Rhaella asked worriedly, “What if he blames her for my illness? I could not bear it if one of my children harbored contempt for their sibling.” 

“Viserys loves her, even though he is hurting. She is his sister and of you; he said as much.” 

“Yes, that is good. He will be good, he must be,” the Dowager queen whispered and it seemed that Aerys’s ghost would not quit hanging over her. _Will she ever be free of him?_ Elia wondered. Though her good-mother looked even more tired now, than she had when the Dornishwoman entered. 

“Sleep now. The world will be here when you wake and your grandchildren long to see you, as well as your own children.” 

“Could you sit here by my side? I do not want to be an inconvenience, but it feels so very lonely sometimes, I’ve noticed and you bring warmth wherever you go, my gentle flower.”

“Of course, good-mother.” 

***

Elia was not present for Viserys’s reunion with his mother, for she wished to give the boy space and time alone with Rhaella. There are things that need only be shared betwixt the people it directly concerns. However, she did bring Rhaenys, Daenerys and Aegon along the day after that. It truly seemed like they gave the Dowager queen strength, a wish to go on-- that she had something to live for, but that did not make recovery easy by any means. 

Rhaella could not walk as of yet and eating proved difficult after being fed on fluids for so long-- the Targaryen queen was but skin and bones, with most muscles refusing to bend under her will. The struggles of trying to walk and eat would reduce her good-mother to angry tears, yet Elia tried to remain with her during these times, to be of a comfort and support-- for Rhaella to know that she was not alone. The Dornishwoman had experienced it all before, and understood her good-mother’s pain where others failed. _It is maddening to be left to your own devices for so long, for others to go on whilst you are stuck and the night hours are the longest, most dreadful and silent periods of the day._

Once, a few days after Rhaella’s awakening, Lyanna appeared at the door, with Prince Aemon in her arms, ever the image of his Northern mother. Elia had asked permission to bring the prince along, a day or two prior, for the Targaryen queen had been inquiring on him, and proved to be delighted when the Dornishwoman turned up with the pale princeling in her arms after the request. _I was pleased that Lyanna took initiative and that I did not need to actively propose for her to do it. I have two children, she cannot be another, no more than Rhaegar can be._

The interaction between Rhaegar’s mother and his young wife remained slight and awkward at the best of times, with neither being sure on what to say. _Lyanna is a relic of the war, a reminder to both Rhaella and I, of the cost of foolery._ She understood why the Dowager queen could not truly warm to her new good-daughter. _Rhaella did her duty all her life. When they told her to wed Aerys, she did it, even though she loved another. When her husband took mistresses, she accepted it, for that is what wives do. When Aerys began raping and violating her, she suffered through it, because duty demanded it._

That was why the Dornishwoman understood the inner turmoil that her good-mother had within. _It hurts to have suffered through all of that; to see a girl, not even twenty years of age, refuse to do her duty to a kinder man than most husbands and start a war, all because he could not keep his cock in his breeches._ Rhaella blamed Rhaegar as well, if not more, Elia knew-- _but he was her son and Lyanna was a stranger, who thousands died for._

However, there was no doubt in the Dornishwoman’s mind that the Targaryen queen loved Prince Aemon, just as much as she loved his half-siblings. _He is her grandchild, and she is not Aerys. This one will not complain that her grandson smells Northern._ The sight of Rhaella with quiet Aemon staring up at her, softly clutching clumps of the silver-gold hair had been heartwarming and even Lyanna had gazed at it with softness. After the visit was done, Elia gave her fellow queen a curt nod of approval, along with a wry smile and words of how there might still be hope for the Northern queen. Lyanna had laughed softly and taken her leave, seeming almost happy for a moment. 

A new routine formed in Elia’s life, where she would do her duties, see the children, perhaps bring them to Rhaella for a visit and then she would sit with the Targaryen queen and speak of her day, perhaps her earlier life in Dorne and everything in-between. It seemed to help her good-mother feel connected, in a way, because the days were surely dull and there was not much to do, other than wallow in all the things one could not do, when sitting in that bland chamber, as blank as your heart.

In the beginning, the Dowager queen only listened with a soft smile on her face and occasional comments, but more often, Rhaella had taken to telling her own tale, as well, which was as harrowing and mournful as it was beautiful. It endeared Elia, that her good-mother seemed to be coming out of the thick shell that she had fashioned so long ago-- the walls she made, purely to keep her safe. _How else could anyone suffer Aerys and live? If they did not make themselves half-a-person?_

_"Aerys was not always the monster you knew. The shell that he became,” Rhaella began, her voice drowned in something Elia could not quite put her finger on. Was it reminiscence? The pain of recollection? “He was not a bad brother, but siblings were all we were to each other. Ours was not the story of the rebellious love that my father and mother had. There was no such romance in our hearts, yet a wood’s witch that my uncle’s wife brought to court, poisoned my father’s ears with those damned prophecies. Salt and smoke, bleeding stars, the same as what ensnared my son.”_

_"Jenny of Oldstones?” Elia asked quietly, stroking Rhaella’s pale hand that was no longer as thin or as bony as it was a fortnight ago, when she had first woken._

_“The very same. A kind woman she was, but the day my father announced Aerys and I’s betrothal, I wept myself to sleep, cursing both her and that wood’s witch for forcing me to do so.”_

_“What did you mother think of it?” Was she a follower of the prophecies, as well? Elia wondered._

_“My mother recognised my pain but did not speak against the marriage. She came into my apartments once, began brushing my hair and telling me that I must be mindful of my duty. Because duty is what held the realm together, what kept our family in power. She told me that father and her hadn’t realised the importance of it, when they wed and that a large war almost broke out, because of their foolishness. A wound that had to be mended by the use of their little sister’s hand, Princess Rhaelle. The one who paid for all my uncles’ sins. ‘Be mindful of your duty, sweet Rhae. We named you in honor of our dutiful sister, the youngest but most compliant of us all.’ I can still hear my mother murmuring the words, as silent tears ran down my cheeks.”_

_“Then, at the age of three-and-ten, I wed Aerys but neither of us bore any love for each other. We were children, years from being grown. Yet, he was kind to me and treated me well. Nine moons later, I birthed Rhaegar as we were losing it all.”_

_“I am so sorry,” Elia spoke, for what else could she say?_

_“It was a sorry time. Then I began losing child upon child,” Rhaella swallowed, haunting, purple eyes filling with tears, “And he comforted me at first. He held my hair as I wept and sang to me, Aerys always had a beautiful voice. I always envied him for it.”_

_“Then?” the Dornishwoman asked quietly, gripped by the sorrowful tale, plagued by the wish of knowing more. Perhaps to understand where it all had gone so horribly wrong for her good-father. Not an excuse for his actions, but perhaps an understanding of his youth._

_“Then his doubt began creeping in and he blamed me, screaming that the children had been bastards, which was why the Gods stole them from us. Somewhere along those lines, I lost him and Rhaegar lost his father.” Frustrated with her tears, Rhaella hurriedly wiped them away, “It has been years. I thought the wounds had closed but it seems now, that the simplest touch causes them to bleed afresh. Perhaps they never healed properly from the start.”_

_“You do not have to continue,” Elia murmured, stroking the woman’s cheek and purple eyes turned to her, full of a quiet resolve._

_“I do, if not, then how shall I ever be free?” Rhaella cleared her throat and continued. “It was if he pushed right through me, the man he was, scattered to the winds. On the occasion, his eyes were so dark that I wondered how he was even able to see. I began seeing him in colors. Red and cruel, calming as lilac, gentle like orange and simply had to adapt to what he was that day. But sometimes…” the Targaryen queen faltered, her eyes turning cloudy, foggy with a certain mist._

_“What?” The Dornish queen asked._

_“Sometimes he was blue and almost kind.”_

She continued advising Rhaegar and taking an active role in intricacies of ruling, yet the burden did not feel as heavy as it once had. Her fellow queen held court when it was required, however cold and haughty they were to Lyanna, and Elia was pleased that the girl was finally, after almost a year, taking to her duties instead of complaining about them. The Dornishwoman cared even less for the pit of vipers that was the court, than she imagined Lyanna did but she had always held and mingled with it, because it was required. 

_It is interesting to not how the ladies and lords all flock to me and scorn Lyanna because they think me more favorable and influential than her. They did not think so when I was merely a Dornish princess, and scorned me worse than the wolf-girl. All because of Aerys’s distaste._ Elia laughed with them, she jested and spoke, listened to poetry being recited but never confided in, nor let any of them (whose names she could barely bring herself to recall), grow close to her. _It is like having a pet viper, it may slither so kindly around your hand, yet one day it will bite you, causing you to rue the day it ever entered your life._

Kingship kept her husband busy but he seemed different after a few visits to his mother’s bedward. In what way, she could not quite say, it was a minor difference, one that could not truly be named. However, the Dornishwoman had no complaints, for if Rhaegar had been an attentive father earlier, it did not compare to this. He would put their children to bed, read to Rhaenys and Viserys-- sing to Daenerys, Aegon and Aemon-- all who rejoiced in the tunes. _It is good that he spends more time with his children, but most of all; Daenerys and Viserys. They need him as well._

Rhaegar would sporadically visit her at night, sometimes it would be every eve, or in-between days, to claim his husbandly rights. She allowed him to because it was an arrangement that greatly benefitted the both of them. _If one denies themselves the pleasures that life has to offer, then it quickly grows very dull. Perhaps they even would have named me the celibate queen._ The thought amused the Dornish queen, for the court and commons alike, would surely have cheered her pious nature and called her a leading example. _Only to find out that it would not even have been by choice and if I never wanted to be fucked again, or loved the Gods so well, then I would have become a damned Septa._

Ser Jaime had proved a great comfort to Elia, in the Viper’s pit that King’s Landing was. He kept her grounded, somehow, when it was so easy to lose your footing. The knight would jest and laugh and act the way that young men do, so sincerely that the Dornishwoman would forget that she was a queen, and he was a man of nine-and-ten, recently having had his nameday-- with his entire life sworn away to duty and service. 

Rhaenys loved her white knight, but since Prince Viserys’s return to King’s Landing, she would often run away and play with her uncle, leaving Elia and Jaime to their own devices, following the children whilst making conversation and speaking of anything that came to their mind. _Of course not everything,_ but most things that she judged him worthy of knowing.

This day marked a moon’s passing, since the Dowager queen Rhaella had woken up from her difficult predicament. She had learned how to take small steps, but could not as of yet walk without aid or a heavy, instant fatigue. Yet she is growing stronger each day and once she is well, we shall go on our progress. Elia was seated in a chair, embroidering a flower for Rhaenys, as Rhaella was sitting up in her bed and doing the same, placing even stitches into what looked like a sun. 

“Can you tell me about him?” The Dornishwoman asked suddenly and purple eyes turned to her, bearing slight confusion.

“Who?” Rhaella asked. 

“Your knight. The one you loved.” 

“Love,” the Targaryen queen seemed to ponder the word, “I do not think I loved him, I was so young, after all, but I was infatuated, yes. Like only a girl can be.” 

“Bonifer was his name?” a fond smile full of reminiscence tugged at the corner of the Dowager queen’s lips. 

“Yes. Bonifer Hasty,” Rhaella said and then paused, laughing softly, “A knight too much like those in the songs for his own good.” 

“Would you have wished to wed him?” The Dowager queen scoffed.

“My foolish young heart thought that I stood a chance of wedding him. I wished to do what my uncle had done with Jenny, renounce my claim and live with Bonifer for the rest of my days. Beautiful dreams, they were, to wed and have silver-haired daughters with his green eyes, or brown-haired sons with purple. My mother and father quickly disabused those notions, as he was of too low a birth to even be considered as a possible match. Mayhaps it could have been, were I to have been a fourth-born princess or something of the sort. Alas, I was the only Targaryen princess in Westeros, in the world and such a girl could not wed a man who was no better than a hedge-knight.” 

“Did he love you too?” Elia asked, her heart clenching with sympathy for her good-mother who deserved so much, but received so little. 

“I cannot claim to know what was in his heart but he did name me his Queen Of Love And Beauty. Once or twice, I even snuck past my septa, to sit by his tent and hear him sing. He said that my hair was as fair as moonglow entwined with starlight and my eyes as deep and haunting as purple seas.” 

“That sounds lovely,” the Dornishwoman murmured, reaching out a beige hand to place it comfortingly atop Rhaella’s, “and he seems like he was a kind man.” 

“He was,” Rhaella nodded, “Handsome as well, with a sweet voice and gentle nature.” 

“How old was he?” 

“Young. No more than seven-and-ten, I should think. I had recently turned three-and-ten.” 

“Do you know what happened to him?” _Maybe they have a chance at reconciliation, for her to have a friendly face in these halls of ghosts._

“No. After I wed Aerys, I did not hear of him again and never dared to seek him out.” the Targaryen queen swallowed, “Especially after Aerys had me accused of adultery. Only men can have female companions in this world and have it be alright.” 

“Aerys is here no longer and you are a widow. Mayhaps I could have Rhaegar try to find him, wherever he would be and bring him here, to you. I am sure the king would agree, for he wishes nothing more than your happiness.” 

“That is a kind thing to offer, Elia,” Rhaella smiled, “But I do not think he even recalls me. This was five-and-twenty years ago, in the midst of tourneys and weddings. Maybe I should let this ghost rest and remember it for what it was, maybe he is not what I think and leaves a taint on the fond memories I bear?” 

“You will not know if you do not try,” the Dornish queen shrugged her shoulders, “I would have wanted to know what became of him.”

“Maybe he is wedded with children of his own,” Rhaella said nervously, “Who am I to root him out of his holdings and force him here, to bring me comfort?” 

“If that is so, and you still wish to see him, then there is room at court for his family to stay, and I suspect that they would enjoy meeting kings and queens.”

“I do want to see him but I am not who I was at three-and-ten. That girl is gone and the woman I’ve become is a mother of three, widowed and maimed by childbirth.” 

“You are much more than that and you know it,” Elia whispered, “Besides, nothing is writ in stone yet. Do what you wish, the Gods know that you deserve it.” The Queen-mother turned thoughtful for a few moments and the Dornish queen continued stitching. 

“Yes,” Rhaella said suddenly, “Why the hells not?” 

“I shall duly bring the matter to the king’s ears, then.” 

****

“Ser Bonifer Hasty?” Rhaegar asked, tracing her collarbone as they laid in the bed, wrapped in crimson sheets and comforting pillows. 

“Yes. He named her his Queen Of Love And Beauty once, shortly before she wed your father. They were dearly fond of each other and even wished to wed, yet he was of too low birth.” Rhaegar frowned slightly and tucked a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear.

“And my mother has expressed interest in knowing what happened to him?” 

“I offered to bring the matter to you, perhaps you could seek him out and offer that he come to King’s Landing. She was not opposed toward the prospect and I think it would make her happy, Rhaegar.” Her husband smiled but his eyes were ever the shade they were when they danced with their melancholy. 

“I will do anything it takes to make her happy. She suffered beneath my father so much and all I could do… All I _did_ was watch. If it means seeking this knight up and having him come here, then it is not so great a cost for even a speck of her bliss.” 

“Good,” Elia smiled, showing her teeth, “The Gods know that she deserves it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the chapter (I'm sorry btw if there's two A/N's in the end here but the other one kind of shows up by default and Idk how to remove it), there's red herrings and forebodings and honestly just a shit-ton of things going on and I know y'all are gonna make your theories but tbh I'm not *that* predictable.
> 
> All I'm gonna say is: It is not going to go the way you think it is.
> 
> Make of that what you will-- but I've had the outline of this story clear from the very start it popped into my head and can with a certain certainty state that I will genuinely applaud you and be highly surprised (and impressed) if it does go the way you imagined. I did leak the entire plot to my friend and they were quite surprised by some stuff, so I take that as an absolute win. 
> 
> continuing on how this was kind of a filler chapter though: Only one more chapter is staged in King's Landing-- the one after that takes us to Storm's End, where Stannis resides with his Lady-Wife and... yeah. 
> 
> But like I said, I don't know when the next update will be and though I know what I want to do, it is hard to find the will and motivation to write it. I will rewrite and add shit to this chapter when I feel the urge to, because it's not been edited either.
> 
> Sorry for this rambly mess (It is late) lol and I'll probably change the title of the chapter later (like always lmao),  
> until next time.


	13. The storm before the calm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes,” she smiled fondly, “No one is born cruel or a monster. The world makes them so. It hardens their hearts until all that remains are feverish dreams and sleeting ice with thundering storms.” 
> 
> “What if they did not mean to be a monster, but it only happened?” the knight asked and looked slightly nervous, enclasping the bottom of his lip with the front row of his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, it's been a while but here's another chapter.
> 
> There probably won't be another update until in like 2-3 weeks but we can always hope lmao. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all like it and please leave a kudos if you did. We all know I'm a whore for comments at this point but that I'm shit at replying to them, but please know that I appreciate them and don't feel discouraged to leave one. The longer the better, tbh, I love reading all your takes and stuff :) 
> 
> P.S: I might change the title of this chapter, but we all been knew at this point. 
> 
> Until next time,  
> <3

* * *

A moon after the Dowager Queen awoke from her slumber of death, he arrived unannounced. In the cover of night during a summer storm that left thunder and lightning to howl in the sky, illuminating the darkness with a divine sort of light. Neither Queen Elia, King Rhaegar or the Dowager Queen herself were aware of this, as the man had decided to wait until the morn to announce himself, lest he cause a disturbance.

* * *

Elia was awoken by a heavy crack of lightning flashing across the dark and silent chamber, accompanied by a roaring boom of thunder-- so loud that it seemed to shake the very castle. An arm was around her waist and another was tracing soft circles on her shoulder. With a slight sigh, she turned around to meet a liquid indigo, more blue than purple in the darkness. 

“You should be sleeping, Your Grace. Kingship is tiring work.” Her dark eyes held a teasing glint and it caused Rhaegar to smile softly, before leaning in and kissing her forehead softly. 

“The storm is keeping me conscious.” _He always enjoyed storms, their destructive grace intrigues him-- The utter beauty of chaos._

“It is a loud one,” she agreed, “But it will pass and you should sleep, lest you fall asleep during our small council meeting, bright and early in the morn.” 

The king groaned and his pale hair glimmered like silvery seafoam and starlight.

“Yes, what a delightful way to start my day-- hearing the Lord Treasurer speak of some tourney we must hold to appease the lords and commons alike, along with the devastating cost of it,” he said dryly, “I truly _cannot_ wait.” Elia chuckled, playing along to the mummer’s play and donning a false look of sympathy.

“Well then you must rest, My King, to be alert and sharp when the time comes-- Otherwise you will surely not be able to comprehend and make worthy verdicts.” 

“I suppose,” Rhaegar bit his lip and caressed her cheek with gentle fingers and drew her in for a chaste kiss, the other hand stroking down the side of her body from underneath her shift, leaving delightful tingles in the wake of his touch. Another roar of thunder hit suddenly, making Elia squeal, for it took her unawares. 

“Frightened of a little thunder, My Queen?” her husband asked, amusement lacing his words. 

“No,” she rolled her eyes but allowed him to drag her close, holding her in place. 

“Well, good that I am here, to shield you from the beast of thunder.” _Until you leave again,_ a corner of her mind whispered. _You will always leave. From Lyanna to me, from me to Lyanna._ Rhaegar Targaryen would never truly be hers and she doubted that he’d ever been, _no more than he is Lyanna’s either._ It was simply not in the king’s nature.

Elia’s leg was propped up over his hip and her head underneath his chin. 

“Good eve,” she murmured and her husband’s only response was to kiss the top of her head. Soon enough, the Dornish queen was asleep, lulled by his even breathing and strangely comforting hold on her. 

***

“The progress will be costly,” Lord Mace Tyrell said with pursed lips, the golden pin of the hand fastened to his doublet, “Perhaps it is better to wait until our coffers become more plentiful with coin.” _I have waited long enough and we will not travel for moons, not until my good-mother grows healthier._ Lord Mace’s whining proved to annoy the Dornishwoman and she eyed him sharply.

“It needn’t be large nor extravagant. We shall take some knights and servants with us, no more, no less. The realm needs to see their king, to know that he is stronger _and_ better than his father was. It is to inspire loyalty and courage, not to indulge any selfish whims.” Well… it did indulge her whim, _but if one is playing the game, they need to play it well._

Their master of ships, the ruling Lord of Velaryon’s face betrayed him and showed a speck of surprise and perchance a bit of awe. All from the simple act of speaking like the true queen she was. Most of the lords on the small council had been wary of having the queen on it, thought that the king was simply indulging his wife and would have her play no grave part in it, which led to them undermining her. However, she was Elia Martell of Dorne and none of them would dull her. 

“For whatever it is worth, I agree with the queen, “ Lord Monford Velaryon shrugged and a smile played on the Dornishwoman’s lips. _Maybe I have an ally in him,_ she pondered. 

“You are the master of ships, what would you know of garnering the love of people or how to win affection?” Lord Symond Staunton asked tersely. One or two of the lords who sat in Rhaegar’s small council had sat in his father’s as well, Lord Symond being one of them. 

The silver-haired Velaryon smiled but his eyes displayed no emotion, “I have a bastard brother to keep me humble, My Lord, I have met my _own_ people-- the ones I _rule_ for,” he began, staring at the old man coldly, “And I do not sweeten my words to curry the favor of mad men, by feeding into their conspiracies,” Lord Monford finished with a slight shake of his head. _It is known that Lord Symond fed my good-father’s vanities and delusions, letting their fires rage on. He will not do the same to Rhaegar,_ she vowed, _not so long as I draw breath._

A red flush began creeping up the grey-haired lord’s face and anger clouded his homely features, “How dare-” 

“Mayhaps we should move on to matters of greater importance?” Grand-Maester Pycelle cut in and Elia found herself greatly annoyed by his gravelly voice. The beard that had once made him look so wise to her, only proved to further fuel her disgust. He was so obviously… weak and feeble, hiding under the guise of a learned, old man. And there was something about his falsely comforting notes, something that screamed and raged insincerity. _He always seemed to run around, indulging Tywin Lannister’s every whim._ It unsettled the Dornish queen. _We must replace him soon, but not soon enough for him to feel slighted._

“Yes,” Rhaegar cleared his throat, “Are there any news, Lord Varys? Have your birds been singing songs worth of any note?” The pale lord, who was not a true lord smiled behind his powdered face. 

“Lord Stannis Baratheon’s Lady-wife is with child, they tell me. Nine-and-ten, she is and he is only two years her elder.” 

“They wed rather quickly,” Lord Mace grumbled, earning a soft sigh from the spider. 

“For a strong alliance I would assume… After all, the war has devastated house Baratheon.” 

“Should we have the child be made a ward? To be raised in King’s Landing alongside Lord Eddard’s, when they are born and come of a certain age?” Elia asked warily, straightening the hem of her azure gown, “What if he decides to avenge his brother, to reclaim the former glory of his house?” 

“They were never close, Queen Lyanna has told me,” Rhaegar shared, “But treading on the side of caution is necessary, nonetheless-- whether it should be the young Renly or Lord Stannis’s unborn child.” 

“A son proves a greater threat than a brother,” Jon Connington pointed out. The king had absolved the Lord of Griffin’s Roost of his exile and reinstated him to the small council, as the Master of Coin and Master of laws. 

Elia had never disliked the man, a dear companion to her husband but there was something about Lord Jon. _He is cold and calculating, though I do not doubt where his loyalties reside, they are not with house Targaryen, but with my husband._ Jon Connington was kind and courteous enough to her but there was a certain glint in his eyes when he looked at Rhaegar-- as if he would move skies and seas just to please his king. It would always evaporate and turn into something cooler when he gazed at her, and swirl with something akin to distaste. If there was something gnawing on Lord Jon in regards to his Dornish Queen, he surely never voiced it. _But looks can do more to inflame hearts than words, on the occasion._

Sensing the red-head’s eyes on her, she straightened her spine like a spear and spoke.

“We must bind them to the crown. To seal their devotion in blood, there is no other way.” _But who would they wed? Renly could have a daughter with lineage proven to be in favor to house Targaryen-- but it is the child of Stannis’s that matters._

“I have a daughter,” Lord Monford shared casually, “House Velaryon will always stand by house Targaryen and the crown.” Elia gazed at the man, who looked so like, yet unlike her husband. _His hair is pure silver, but it does not dazzle like starlight entwined with precious metals, like Rhaegar’s does. And Monford’s eyes are more plum than indigo or violet, his face more narrow and less striking._ There was no denying the man was comely, but the beauty of the dragons was far more renowned. 

“And there is Targaryen blood in every Velaryon,” she said, lips tilting into a lopsided smile, plum eyes meeting brown ones. Meeting her unflinching gaze, Lord Monford mirrored her expression and nodded.

“Distant, but enough for Renly to know where his loyalties need lay.” 

“I have a newly born daughter as well, Margaery is her name,” Lord Tyrell said and when the Dornishwoman looked upon him, she noted that he was boasting a nasty shade of red, “A marriage to the hand’s daughter seems better placed than that of a… a master of ships.” 

“They need blood-ties,” Lord Monford explained, “However distant they are because if Stannis does not succeed in siring a son, Renly is the spare who suddenly became a true heir and the time is ripe to strike with a betrothal. Otherwise Lord Stannis may receive the notion of betrothing his daughter to his brother.” 

“That seems strangely close,”The Dornishwoman wrinkled her nose, “for Andals, that is.” 

“Desperate men do desperate things,” Varys sighed and they shared an all-too knowing look. 

“How old is your daughter, My Lord?” Elia asked.

“She is almost on her third nameday, My Queen. Laena is her name.” That surprised her. _He cannot be more than twenty years of age. Yet far younger men and women have children, so it should not come as a shock to me. Rhaegar was twenty when we had Rhaenys._

“And Renly is a boy of six? Seven?” She wondered, earning a nod from Varys, “Then I think we should choose the young Laena, who is only three or so years younger. It would take longer for your Lady Margaery to wed and birth children, time that we may not have, My Lord,” Elia spoke apologetically to Lord Mace. _He needs to think that if Margaery had been older, she would have reigned supreme over Laena. A scorned lord is a dangerous one._ The hand nodded gruffly and she decided it was enough, turning back to Lord Monford with a twinkling smile. 

“Then it is decided and arrangements shall be made. I do not think that Lord Stannis will deny the match, it is a rich one, far greater than many third sons can aspire to have. House Velaryon is a strong and ancient one.” 

“You flatter me, My Queen,” the silver-haired lord smiled, his plum eyes vibrant as he looked at her, “And a very clever woman.” _If I had been foolish, I would not be alive, My Lord. King’s Landing would have eaten me alive. Robust and physically strong, I may never be but with my mind, I can be everything and more._

“Yes, but then there is the matter of the unborn child,” Rhaegar chimed in, his voice strangely steely as he looked at the Lord of Driftmark and then back to his wife. 

“Mayhaps we leave that for when the babe is born. After all, it may be a girl and all this fuss will have been made for naught,” Lord Varys murmured softly. 

“I should say you have the truth of it,” Elia smiled at the eunuch, so softly and innocently that one may even have believed she was a simpering maiden, unbeknown to all the woes of the world and _not_ a viper of Dorne. 

“Should we call this meeting adjourned, then?” Lord Tyrell asked, seeming impatient but not slighted. The king rose and nodded. 

“You all have my leave.” Whilst Lord Mace left rather quickly, the rest stayed and mingled slightly. Rhaegar began speaking with Lord Connington as Elia was met with Lord Monford. 

“I thought the vein in the hand’s forehead would burst, from how red he became,” the Velaryon chuckled, full lips tilting into a smirk. 

“I do not know what you are speaking of,” she smiled innocently, “But you should guard your tongue a little better. Some may not have my appreciation for deprecating jests.” 

“But they should, should they not? I always though life becomes far more interesting when you can jape about it. Otherwise it is so dreadfully dull.” 

“My brother most like shares that sentiment,” she shook her head, still smiling, “For all the good it does him.” 

“I happened upon your brother in a very unfortunate place when he was visiting the city last.” 

“Oh, did you?” she asked wryly, “A brothel, was it?” _You men can never keep to your own beds, it seems._ The lord rose an eyebrow.

“Mayhaps, but I was meeting a timber salesman to discuss business and simply happened upon Prince Oberyn. Such a charismatic and intriguing man. I can’t claim to have ever seen his like.” 

The Dornishwoman chuckled, “I think that the world can only handle one Oberyn at a time.” 

“Rightly spoken, My Queen.” Then, an arm were on her shoulder and she turned her head, greeted by the sight of Rhaegar.

“Elia, Lord Monford,” he greeted with those somber, indigo eyes.

“My King,” the lord bowed, “How fare you?” A sort of awkwardness seemed to have crept upon them and would not take its leave. 

“I am quite well, and you?” Rhaegar’s voice held that steely note, still and she wondered why. _Mayhaps Lord Connington gave him grievous news of some kind._

“Quite the same, My King. I was only just now speaking of when I was fortunate enough to meet your good-brother.” Elia almost laughed when she saw the slight wince that flashed across her husband’s face for a short second, at the mention of Oberyn. 

“Ah yes, quite the character.” 

“Indeed, My King.” 

“Your wife and child are not with you, here in King’s Landing?” Elia knew the answer but wished for a confirmation. _Does it not get lonely?_ She was aware that whores existed for men that deemed themselves lonely, even with wives, but she was referring more to his child. _I could never part from Rhaenys and Aegon for and indefinite amount of time._

“No, sadly,” he shook his head, one or two silver strands framing his face, “But I had the thought of sending for them. I dearly miss and yearn for their company.” 

“You should,” Elia encouraged, “And I think that Rhaenys would value a closer companion, almost of her own age. Right?” she turned to Rhaegar and he nodded, seeming thoughtful. 

“Yes, it will give Viserys a few moments of peace as well, for she is always clinging to his arms and ordering him around with that demanding nature. But it is still a sweet sight.” 

“Your daughter is a most precious thing. I came upon her a few days ago, with her nursemaid, septa and kitten. She proudly proclaimed that I looked like her brother, uncle and father and then demanded I put her on my shoulders, so that she could be taller than the septa.” The tale made Queen Elia chuckle and even Rhaegar could not help a fond smile transforming his features. 

“That does sound like Rhaenys.” 

“I fear I shall take my leave now. Letters are to be written, betrothals formed. Such tedious work but I assume it shall be rewarding in the end.” 

“I apologise for keeping you,” Elia frowned, feeling slightly guilty.

“Oh, it was of no consequence, My Queen,” he smiled, showing gleaming, white teeth, “You are a most captivating woman and it has been a true delight.” Then, he took her hand gently and brought it to his lips, leaving a kiss and all she could think of was how soft his lips were, _almost like Rhaegar’s when-_

“My King,” Lord Velaryon bowed and Rhaegar gave him a tight smile. When he was gone, only Elia and Rhaegar remained in the solar.

“Be careful around him,” Rhaegar said thoughtfully, chewing on his bottom lip. _I am careful around everyone. Even you, husband._ However, she was confused as to why Rhaegar warned her about Lord Monford and not any of the rest. _They’re all slithering snakes, reaching for their own agendas but Lord Velaryon seems less so._

“Why?” Rhaegar looked at her incredulously, as if it was obvious. 

“Because he _wants_ you,” the king said slowly, his fingers drumming on the table erratically.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, “Every man with whom I converse with does not ‘want me’” 

“I _am_ a man and it is not hard to read most,” Rhaegar inhaled sharply, “If he does anything, you must tell me.” 

“Stop it, he has a wife and I am a woman wedded.” _I was wed when I kissed Arthur and let him touch me, but you were wed as well, when you stuck your cock in Lyanna. So I think we are rather fair._

Her husband was a Targaryen, and though many would think him more mellow and less fiery than most-- He was still a man and there was fire in his blood, coursing hot and scalding anyone who dare draw a drop of it. She was _his_ wife and he still loved her in his peculiar way-- Of course he’d never remain indifferent if lords began paying special attention upon her. _Rhaegar never liked anyone playing with his toys. No man does. Yet women must share theirs all the time and earn no thanks in return._

“That does not stop most men, _especially_ if they think their advances are reciprocated.” 

“And are his advances reciprocated?” she sneered, eyeing him sharply and he seemed to realise his mistake, as he took hold of her hands and shook his head. 

“No, I only meant that sometimes men think certain things when the truth is... different,” the king frowned. 

“Sometimes,” she looked at him sharply, “You must truly _think_ before you speak.” Her husband moved to speak but she shushed him. Most men would have struck their wife for having the insolence to cut them off, especially if they were kings. But that was not Rhaegar’s way and he knew that Elia would have gelded him in his sleep, were it to have been. 

“And if you apologise once more, I may take your tongue for it. I am tired of apologies, you _know_ this. He is a kind man but I am no Shiera Seastar, Rhaegar. I do not ensnare men with a single gaze or well-placed laugh.” 

The king looked at her for a few moments, frowning as if what he saw was sad. 

“You do not see,” he shook his head, “You are beautiful and clever, with a great sense for jests and is so irrevocably strong. You do not see what the world sees, when you smile or laugh or frown softly and bite your lip. It is _maddening,_ ” he breathed, indigo eyes alight, “How you can be so lovely but so unaware of it.” _You always thought your prophecies were lovelier. Arthur thought his duty and the glory was lovelier. All the men I’ve loved have chosen things above me. Is it so surprising that there comes a time when you simply acknowledge the fact that you will always be the second choice? The one left behind._

“Poetic,” she murmured, looking down at her hands and not truly believing his words because it is _so_ hard for a woman to. _Men always say what they think a woman wishes to hear, to fuel their own agendas. We always have to remain critical, because one misstep can lead to a terrible fall. And we aren’t awarded falls in this world, we cannot afford to._

“It wasn’t meant to be poetic,” he said, cupping her face with warm hands, “It was meant to be the truth.” And then his lips were on hers, soft and tender-- molding against her own. Rhaegar gasped when her teeth grazed his bottom lip, lightly pulling and she idly wondered whether they should be so bold as to consecrate the solar. It would give her a malicious sort of pleasure to know that, each time she gazed upon the withered old lords who thought that men were supreme on the sole basis of having a cock between their legs. 

A knock disrupted the action and a voice belonging to Ser Gerold filled the solar. 

“My King, may I have a word with you?” Rhaegar sighed and placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder, pulling away.

“Yes, you may enter.” The old knight twisted the knob and opened the oaken door, murmuring a courtesy to them both. 

“A knight announced himself to the guards of the gate, this morn. He showed them a parchment with the King’s seal on it and said that he has been invited to court, to serve as a companion to the Dowager Queen. Bonifer Hasty is his name.” That caused Rhaegar to frown.

“I was not expecting him,” he murmured, almost to himself, “When I received no reply, I simply thought he did not wish to come or that he may have perished in the war.” 

“What should we do with him, Your Grace?” The white bull asked.

“Where is he now?” Elia chimed in, brushing out her soft, brown curls with her fingers.

“He was soaking from the storm last eve, so we took him to the kitchens for hot soup, bread and ale,” the bull began, “He said that he had arrived last eve but did not wish to disturb, so he simply waited by a stonebench. All through the stormy night.” 

“Gods,” Rhaegar mumbled, “That can’t have been very pleasant.” 

“No, it can’t have been, Your Grace.” 

“Give him access to a chamber of his own and have them ready a tub for him to bathe, lest he catches the chill,” Elia told her husband gently.

“Yes, and in the meantime, I shall go notify mother of his arrival and she may prepare to greet him.” Rhaella was still weak from childbirth and by no means recovered, but she was gaining strength each day and there was a certain glow about her. An utter lust for life. Daenerys gave the Dowager Queen a daughter of her own to dote upon, and Viserys was ever the dutiful son. There was not much of Aerys in any of the children and Elia wagered that her good-mother was pleased about that. 

“I can do it, Rhaegar,” the Dornishwoman murmured, placing a hand on his chest, “There are some things that women need hear from women.” The king mulled over her words and nodded.

“I can speak with Ser Bonifer instead and accompany him to my mother’s chambers, whilst you do the same for mine.” 

“Yes,” Elia smiled and felt her heart squeeze with excitement and happiness for her good-mother, who’d suffered far too much. 

*** 

“He’s here?” Rhaella said with Daenerys in her arms, almost breathless, “For true?”

“Yes,” Elia smiled and nodded, stroking the infant’s cheek before placing a comforting hand on Rhaella’s shoulder. 

“Alone, at that. Your fears for a family seem unfounded. They say he waited out in the storm all night, simply because he did not wish to be a disturbance.” 

The pale woman snorted and garnered some color in her cheeks, “What a daft man.” 

“Indeed,” Queen Elia agreed, giggling slightly, “But what are men, if not daft?” 

“True, true,” Rhaella murmured, kissing the soft tufts of silver-gold hair atop Daenerys’s head. 

“She is such a sweet and strong babe,” Elia praised, smiling when violet orbs met her brown ones. 

“She is, isn’t she? So good and gentle. No matter how horrible the circumstances of her conception, it was all worth it for her. For my little princess.” “Do you think he’ll be the same?” Rhaella asked, almost shyly. _No, good-mother. No one ever remains the same. The years do their number on all of us._

“No,” she shook her head, moving the chair closer to the bed, “No one ever is, yet that does not have to be a bad thing.” 

“I am so different now, what if it’s not to his liking? What if he craves the young and innocent girl that I was? She died at Summerhal and there is nothing left to bear any resemblance to her.” 

“You are a force to be reckoned with, Rhaella. You are strong, kind and good-- if he loved you then, he will love you even more now. If not, then I shall personally kick him in the arse.” That earned a laugh from the Targaryen queen and for a moment, she looked so young, as if the ghosts of her past had quit haunting her. 

“I cannot recall the last time I was this nervous,” the Queen-mother mumbled, “Tis as if I’m a blushing maiden, all over again.” 

“It is because you are human, flesh and blood like the rest of us. You’ve waited decades for this and if you so wish, I will stay here until you feel secure enough to send me away.”

“Thank you, Elia,” Rhaella smiled with tears glistening like dark, dark crystals in her haunting eyes, “I never thought I’d have this, you know? I thought that one day, I’d simply die giving birth to a child that would not survive me, or that Aerys would find some reason to get rid of my being. He seemed almost immortal and all was without hope.” 

“Oh, Rhaella,” Elia sighed, tears welling up in her eyes as well.

“And it was horrible because even after all the gruesome things he did to me, how he raped and violated my body… a part of me still loved him and the brother I had. Whenever he had his good days, or showed me a speck of kindness-- the man he’d been, I’d be filled with hope. I thought that maybe he’d be okay. But then he wasn’t, yet I still could not bring myself to end his pathetic existence. We shared the same mother and father, the same space. We were cut from the same cloth, no matter how much I wish we hadn’t been. No one understands, it is _so_ hard,” the Targaryen rasped, tears trickling down her face.

“I understand,” Queen Elia whispered, “Not to the same extent, but I understand. What it is like to hate someone for what they did to you, to curse them to the Gods for ever doing what they did. And then to have a part of you love them, still-- Because they were not always like that. I understand.” She was weeping now as well and Rhaella leaned toward her, to embrace the small Dornishwoman. 

“My sweet flower,” Rhaella soothed, as Daenerys cooed betwixt them, “It is so hard being a princess, but even more so; A queen.” 

In the arms of her good-mother, Elia felt safe and it was a good feeling. It truly was. 

An hour after that, Rhaegar knocked on the door and Elia bid him to enter. A tall man stood next to him, neither thin nor burly; but lean, with dark hair and shockingly green eyes. _They are more pale, not as intricate or deep as Jaime’s, but like pale grass on a summer field. A beautiful color._ He was handsome as well, with a strong jaw and kind face. 

“Mother, Elia,” Rhaegar greeted, walking toward them, to place a kiss on both their cheeks. 

“My Queens,” the man spoke solemnly and got down to one knee, bowing. 

“You may rise,” Rhaella bid him softly with a smile and he rose, gazing at the pale woman as if he could not believe his eyes, as if he could not believe that he was truly there. It was Rhaegar who broke the silence. 

“I fear I must tend to the prickly hand and will therefore take my leave,” he smiled, “I will see you later, mother, and you, Elia.” _I do not think he has a matter with Lord Tyrell, it seems like he simply wishes to give his mother space, to deal with her own ghosts._ Before the king left, he clapped Ser Bonifer on the shoulder, “It was good to meet you Ser, and I daresay that we will be crossing paths again.” 

“Yes, My King,” the knight nodded reverently. 

When Rhaegar left, Elia turned to the knight, “Would you like to sit, Ser?” she pointed to a chair next to the bad where Rhaella was sitting upright in, her back leaning against the headboard, silver-gold hair sprawled out along delicate shoulders-- Daenerys in her arms. _She looks like an angel, so beautifully damned._ Gratefully, the knight nodded and sat down, seeming unsure on what to do next.

“It-”

“-Bon-” They both began at the same time and Elia would have chuckled, were she not to have manners. Instead, the knight and the Dowager Queen laughed lightly at each other.

“You first, My Queen,” he nodded for her to continue.

“Bonifer… It has been so very long,” Rhaella sighed, her smile looking broken. 

The black-haired knight leaned forward, clasping her free hand in his, “Five-and-twenty years, to be precise,” he smiled and she laughed, the sound bordering on a sob and relief.

“Yes, we are both old now.” 

“I don’t know about that,” he shook his head, “You look even more beautiful today than you did all those years ago. Time does not seem to touch you.” Elia had seated herself in the back, continuing on an embroiderment and watching the scene unfold before her with a tenderness. It was as if they’d forgotten she was even there, they were simply lost in each other and it was utterly beautiful to witness. 

“You look wiser and just as handsome, if not more,” Rhaella told the knight sincerely, seeming to clutch his hand harder. 

“I thought of you. Always,” he murmured, turning his gaze to the child in her arms. 

“Daenerys,” the Targaryen queen shared, seeming almost nervous, “Her name is Daenerys.” Ser Bonifer reached out a finger, to stroke the infant’s cheek. From across the room, Elia heard Daenerys’s sweet giggles and could imagine the child was smiling. 

“She is just as lovely as her mother,” he said, “May I hold her?” 

“Of course,” Rhaella nodded several times, reaching forward to hand him the princess, but hissing as a wave of pain hit her. Elia rose, ready to help her good-mother, but the knight beat her to it-- Standing up and gently helping the Dowager Queen lean back again.

“It is fine. I’ve got you,” he mumbled, putting a comforting hand on the silver-haired beauty’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Rhaella blurted out sheepishly, ashamed of her weakness. 

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about, My Queen.” Then, he loosed his scabbard and placed it on the chair, moving to sit on the bed next to the former queen. 

“Do you have children of your own?” Rhaella asked as she tenderly handed him her only daughter, whom he embraced with a father’s gentleness. 

“No I do not,” the man said, eyeing Princess Daenerys who reached out small hands to touch his face, making him smile. 

“How about a wife?” Elia could hear the insecurity lacing the words. _She does not wish him to be wed, but will make due if he is._

“No.” 

“Why not?” the Queen-mother asked carefully, watching the man whom she most likely wished would have been the father of the child he was holding.

“Because no woman could ever hold a candle to Rhaella of House Targaryen. Only the Maiden would have replaced you in my eyes.” The sincerity of the knight’s words made Elia’s eyes water. _He would never have left her defenseless, with a mad king, to help her husband escape with a woman no more than a girl._ The Dornishwoman could just tell, from the sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes softened as he looked at the Targaryen queen. _That is true love. A pure form that will never fade, however many years that pass._

“You are too kind,” Rhaella murmured, “Do you still joust? There was such a raw talent within you.” 

“I do not,” Ser Bonifer confessed, “I put away my lance the day you wed. With you gone, it lost its charm and seemed more an empty vanity.” 

“Oh, Bonifer,” the Queen-mother spoke mournfully.

“No,” he stopped her, “It was my choice not to wed or father children or keep on jousting. It all led me here and I regret nothing.” 

“I am not the girl I was, Bonifer,” Rhaella whispered, “She’s gone and something darker and more haunting has taken her place.” 

“I am not the young knight I was, either-- Why should I expect the same of you? We were young but are no longer. It is only natural that we’ve changed but the hardships you’ve had to endure,” he faltered, swallowing before continuing, “I would not have wished it upon anyone. Were I to have been there…” 

“I know,” the Dowager Queen Rhaella breathed, leaning her forehead against his, “I know.” 

Elia decided that it was time to allow them both their privacy. 

***

“What was he like?” Jaime asked, as they were walking to the nursery with Rhaenys and Aegon in tow. The princess was asleep in Ser Jaime’s embrace, clinging to his neck with her delicate limbs. Aegon was in his mother’s arms, drowsy with sleep.

“He seems like a kind man, with a good heart,” she replied, kissing a sluggish Aegon’s head. 

“She deserves a kind man with a good heart,” Ser Jaime said quietly, meeting her brown eyes with liquid pools of emerald. _His hair has grown out,_ she noted. It reached slightly past his ear, in neat, golden curls that could put most women to shame.

“She really does,” Elia agreed softly, “I am simply happy that she is prospering.” 

“You are as well,” the knight said, looking straight ahead. They were only a few paces from the nursery where she would lay Aegon to rest. Then they would visit Viserys and Rhaenys’s shared chambers, to put her to bed too. 

“Am I?” she asked, smiling wryly. 

“Yes,” he said with a peculiar look in his green eyes, framed by dark lashes, “Queenship becomes you. It’s like…” Jaime faltered, trying to put his thoughts to words, “You’re shining-- glowing, radiating and it’s noticeable. You fill people with light after only a touch and it makes you even more beautiful, somehow. There was such a sadness to you before, it would hurt to look upon you and see all the pain there, I only wanted to mend it-- to right the wrongs.” The words were spoken softly, but they sounded so heartfelt that her chest tightened. _You think I am beautiful, Jaime?_ Somehow it was different to when Arthur or Rhaegar said it. 

“I-I onl-” Ser Jaime began, his cheeks reddening as he noticed what he’d said.

“-Thank you, Jaime. Your words mean a lot to me, I hope you know. So does your friendship,” Elia murmured quietly, seeing his flushed cheeks and glimmering eyes, wanting to reach a hand out to stroke the side of his face. But she knew that she couldn’t. _I cannot._

“I hold this friendship high in my esteem as well. You are always a welcome relief, My Queen.”

They were by the nursery now and she gave Jaime a gentle nod. 

“I will be back shortly. I shall only put him to sleep in his cot.” 

“Take your time. I will be here-- We will be here.” Thusly, she entered and headed straight for the ivory cot, kissing her son’s cheek and earning a half-hearted whine, as he was practically asleep.

Elia would cherish these moments with her son, just like she did with Rhaenys. There was something precious about having the love of an infant, to be their protector and carer. For you to be able to hold them to your chest and promise that nothing will ever hurt them, that you will keep them safe. _Of course, real life is not like the songs and most often, the monsters win. But they did not this time. They did not succeed in taking my children and I have Jaime to thank for that. And perhaps Rhaegar… For winning the war that he bloody started._

“Goodnight, my love. Sleep gently,” she told her son after lowering and tucking him into the cot. A fussing sound was heard, but it did not come from her son and Daenerys was still with Rhaella. Softly, Elia padded over to the cot where another prince was moving, near tears. She turned around and saw Melly half-asleep and didn’t have the heart to wake her. _She must care for her own children in the night and come back here, to feed and watch mine. She deserves to rest when they do too._

“Don’t cry, little prince,” Elia pleaded with the child, leaning to pick him up, before freezing. _Would that be alright? Would I allow Lyanna to do the same for Aegon?_ After collecting her thoughts, she realised that yes, yes she would. _The wolf-girl would never hurt my son, no more than I would hers._ Queen Elia did not think that Queen Lyanna would mind. _I cannot leave him here to weep and thrash, it feels cruel._ “Come here, sweetling,” she mumbled, taking the bundle into her arms. Grey eyes met hers and she stroked the soft tufts of dark hair atop his head. 

“You will be a year old, soon. Only a few moons left,” the Dornishwoman whispered, swaying gently. The quiet child simply began touching her hair, like Aegon was fond of, all the while blinking slowly. _He has Rhaenys’s lips,_ she noticed _and Aegon’s nose._ Both attributes being given to the children via their father. A sweet babe, Aemon was and she could not help but feel love toward him, too. 

“You played no part in this, I know,” she murmured, “And I will never hold it against you, sweetling.” _No one asks to be born, nor for the circumstances or the different statuses. It simply happens and we cannot change it._

After a few minutes of gentle swaying, she placed him back in his cot and he looked to fall asleep immediately. Her hand seemed to reach out and stroke a tuft of dark-brown hair away from his face, of its own accord and Elia wondered when it was that she had begun caring for the youngest prince so. _It may simply be because I am a mother. What mother can scorn a defenseless babe, whose only act was being born?_

With a final look at Melly and the sleeping children, she exited and saw Ser Jaime moving side-to-side, one hand on Rhaenys’s upper legs, holding the girl in place and the other on the back of her head-- moving the Dornishwoman’s heart.

“To their chambers, then?” she asked the knight softly and he smiled. 

“Yes.” And together, they walked, Elia a little too close to Jaime than would be deemed proper, yet he was a knight of the Kingsguard, holding her daughter. The court would find it granted that she’d be so near, yet there was no one in the halls. _It is late, it would be strange if people were bustling around._

“She was tired,” Ser Jaime murmured, placing a kiss on her daughter’s head, covered in brown curls, the same color as her own. For a second, Elia wondered what it would look like, were they to have been golden. 

“Rhaenys must learn not to overexert herself so,” Queen Elia sighed, eyeing her princess with affection.

“She is but a child, it is in their nature.” 

“Yes, I suppose.” The Dornishwoman turned her head to glance at the knight, “You are good at handling her, did you help with your brother Tyrion when he was a babe?” 

Something sad flashed across Ser Jaime’s eyes then and he frowned slightly, “Not as much as I should have… My father, Cers-” he cleared his throat, “They weren’t as fond of him as I was and I regret not having done more for him. It’s never been easy for my brother and it is not even his fault.” 

“The golden twins,” Elia murmured but Jaime finished it for her grimly, “And the imp.” 

“You will see him again, I am sure of it,” she murmured as they reached the door to Viserys and Rhaenys’s chambers. 

“Yes,” Jaime sighed, “Or so I should like to hope.” Then, one of the guards opened the door, allowing Elia and Jaime to walk inside. The lighting was dim and when they entered the bedchamber, she noted that Viserys was still awake, crouching over a book that looked to be about the Dance Of The Dragons. 

“Viserys?” she asked and lilac eyes turned to her, large and beautiful in the candlelight. 

“Elia, Ser Jaime,” he greeted, closing the book, standing up and moving to hug her gently. 

“You are getting taller by the minute,” she chided with a gentle laugh, “A few more years and you will have surpassed me.” That made the prince smile and Ser Jaime snort. 

“Anything you would like to add to the conversation, Ser?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and amusement lacing her words.

“It is not exactly difficult, is it?” he mumbled, smiling, “You are a small woman.” 

“Maybe,” she sighed dramatically, “It is simply the men around me that are _too_ large.” 

“Maybe,” Viserys agreed, grinning. 

“But you’ll stay on my level for a few more years, right, My Prince?” she asked, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Viserys’s grip tightened on her waist as he nodded.

“I promise, Elia.” 

“That is good, sweetling. I truly do appreciate it.” Jaime seemed to take that as his cue to tuck the princess into her own bed, opposite from Viserys’s. Rhaenys barely made more than a whine when the knight untangled her from him and seemed to enter a deep slumber as soon as her body touched the featherbed. 

“Now let us tuck you in, as well,” Queen Elia told the prince with curly, silver-gold hair. 

“I am _too_ old to be tucked in,” the prince grumbled. 

“Does that mean you are declining?” she asked airily and the boy took hold of her wrist.

“No,” he mumbled sheepishly. 

“There is no shame in it, Viserys. Be a boy while you still can. Manhood comes with its own trials and there is no need to wish for it prematurely. One day, you will look upon these memories of your youth with a reminiscent fondness. I promise you,” the Dornishwoman told her good-brother in a motherly voice. 

“She’s right, lad,” Jaime reassured the prince and Viserys nodded, moving to his bed and allowing Elia to tenderly wrap the covers around him. 

“Mother is with that knight,” he whispered and Elia reached out to place her hands on his, “Is he to be Dany and I’s new father?” the prince asked warily. Shaking her head, the Dornish queen replied.

“He is here to bring your mother comfort, Viserys. They knew each other when they were young and he gives your mother strength. It is good to have a companion, my sweet.”

“He treats her better than father did?” Elia nodded, stroking the boy’s soft curls.

“Yes, Viserys. He does.” 

“Then I am pleased. I want mother to be happy again and smile. Like when she held Rhaenys for the first time and then Aegon.” 

“She will be, all it takes is time.” 

“And I want you to be happy, Elia,” the boy murmured, yawning, “You seem happier. Are you happy?” 

“You are far too young to worry about such matters, My Prince,” the Dornishwoman said, kissing the boy’s forehead and stroking his cheek. 

“But are you?” His lilac eyes burned as bright as Jaime’s had earlier, like Rhaegar’s on the occasion too. 

“Yes, I should think that I am.” Elia didn’t know if that was a lie or the truth. _Sometimes the lines are very blurred betwixt those two._

“Good,” Prince Viserys smiled and closed his eyes, “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” 

“He is a gentle soul and will grow into a fine man,” Ser Jaime said once they were outside and he began escorting her to her own chambers.

“Yes,” she smiled fondly, “No one is born cruel or a monster. The world makes them so. It hardens their hearts until all that remains are feverish dreams and sleeting ice with thundering storms.” 

“What if they did not mean to be a monster, but it only happened?” the knight asked and looked slightly nervous, enclasping the bottom of his lip with the front row of his teeth. 

“I suppose it depends on what depraved act they committed and if they truly did not mean to or knew that it was wrong. Being lulled under a false spell is not monstrosity.” 

“You make intriguing points,” he muttered as her skirts swept across the marble floor. _One more flight of stairs and we shall be by my chambers._ She was tired and the day had taken much of her strength, leaving the Dornishwoman slightly fatigued. 

“You are no monster, Jaime,” Elia said suddenly, as they were close to her door. She could see Ser Oswell and Ser Jonothor outside, standing guard for the night, “You could never be.” 

“You do not know what I’ve done.” 

“No more than you know what I have,” she began, “I do not need to. I know you for what you are.” The knight nodded but kept his gaze on the floor.

“Good eve, My Queen,” he bid her and she smiled, wishing to embrace and tell him to rid his heart of that melancholy, for she had one of Rhaegar and did not need another. 

“Good eve, Ser Jaime.” Then, Elia greeted both knights outside her door curtly and entered, not bothering to remove her gown before throwing herself on the soft featherbed with a vigor. 

Elia fell asleep that night, dreaming of suns and stars, golden dragons and purple skies. 

***

The coming month after Ser Bonifer Hasty’s arrival marked the third moon since Princess Daenerys’s birth and a minor celebration for the king’s sister was thrown. Rhaella had taken to going on walks with her knight and they would speak softly to each other, perhaps reminiscing of their youth or what they would have liked their lives to become. Elia would sometimes spot the Queen-mother and her lost knight on these promenades, be it from a balcony or a window and the sight always filled her with hope. Because with Bonifer by her side, Rhaella quickly grew stronger and those sorrowful lines of her face dulled-- letting the beauty of her shine through. 

Rhaegar and Elia would make plans for the progress and Lyanna even took to helping them, planning how many horses and comforts they would need. It was quite an uneventful time, except Aegon had taken his first steps, making Elia glow with pride and happiness. Rhaenys grew ever bolder and fiery with age, but retained such a sweet nature that everyone was lost in her charms. The Dornishwoman could not believe, that came a year’s turn and her little princess would be a girl of five. 

Prince Aemon grew larger each day that passed too, and Lyanna would often wonder if Elia had a few moments of her day to spare, for their children to play, whilst their mothers drank tea and nibbled on fruitcakes from the kitchens. Lyanna was an insecure woman, still and would strive to emulate Elia and ask for advice-- since the Dornishwoman seemed to be doing so well and the Northern queen wanted to do her duty, for once. Queen Elia had no quarrels with offering advice or a companionship of sorts, because otherwise Lyanna would drown in her loneliness. _And loneliness breeds bitterness, bitterness breeds anger, and anger breeds danger._

Besides, having somewhat good relations with the other queen would strike down those who sought to crawl betwixt the king and his queens, trying to tear them apart from within. _A strong foundation ensures that the castle does not crumble and fall._ Neither of them could afford a fall because Westeros was still bleeding and they needed to mend it-- to close the gaping wounds

Rhaella would accompany them on the occasion, yet relations between Lyanna and Rhaella were strained and all knew why. Elia had even told Lyanna why she should never strive for more than a courteous kinship with the Queen-mother and the woman, for however young and naive that she was, seemed to understand. _When one has suffered to the extent that Rhaella Targaryen has, then it is hard to look upon those who barely have, throw everything away and leave the world burning, all because they thought they had it unfairly._ Though Elia assured the wolf-queen that Dowager Queen Rhaella loved Prince Aemon just as well as she loved the others. 

Elia was all but counting down the days until they left for the progress. Of course, they would head to Storm’s End first, but then they would visit Dorne and stay for longer than they would in the Stormlands and North combined. However, she was adamant on that they should wait until Rhaella was truly strong enough, before leaving. Rhaegar agreed and Lyanna did too. She wasn’t all too keen on meeting Lord Stannis Baratheon, for by all accounts; he was a sour and prickly man with little patience for anything but duties are duties. _And we kings and queens, lords and ladies must perform them._

Lord Monford Velaryon did bring his wife and daughter to court, little more than a moon after that small council meeting. A woman of house Celtigar of Claw Isle, whom Elia knew were of Valyrian stock as well. Not to the extent of the Velaryons and Targaryens, but of the old freehold, nonetheless. The woman’s name was Cella and though she had hair more honey than gold or silver, her eyes were the color of a pale ocean, a shade that many Valyrians and natives in Lys boast. 

Their daughter, the Lady Laena was a blur of sunshine and plum, having inherited her father’s eyes but her mother’s straight hair, the color of honeycombs. Rhaenys quickly took to the girl and both of them were a terror to behold for their septas-- Always running around and dirtying their dresses after play in the yards, or being mischievous like only children of that age can be. 

The Dornishwoman quickly grew fond of Cella, who had a clever wit but also a kind and giving nature. _It seems like those raised away from King’s Landing, the Game Of Thrones and complete power are greater than those who were raised with agendas and goals in mind._ Of course Elia was still wary, but it was nice to have a companion at court, with whom she actually enjoyed spending her time with and didn’t feel forced to mingle with because duty demanded she be a good and open-armed queen. 

Lord Monford was not bad either, always having an easy smile to give or a well-timed jest. Lady Cella seemed fond of her husband and Queen Elia was not blind as to why. He was tall and handsome, intriguing and humorous, but also a rich and capable lord. _He is young, not many ladies can count themselves fortunate as to wed a man like that._ She began inviting them to sup with her, Rhaegar and their family. Though the king still seemed wary of how Lord Velaryon could make the Dornishwoman laugh and glow like the morning sun, he trusted his wife and soon began to relent-- Discarding the eerily formal attitude and enjoying the company served. 

It turned out that Lord Monford and King Rhaegar had a great deal of similar interests. Lord Velaryon enjoyed singing, although he could not play the harp and boasted a deep, lovely voice that would reverberate through the halls when Elia begged him to sing. Besides a shared affinity for musical arts, Monford had a keen, sharp mind and would advise Rhaegar on how to handle some of the lords, being a great observer of people’s nature. 

As the days turned into weeks, the progress grew even closer and by the fourth moon after Daenerys’s birth, they’d set a date. The King, his brother, their children and his queens would set out a fortnight after that, travelling to Storm’s End with a company of no more than a hundred knights, including servants and other people of necessity. Rhaella had grown strong enough by then and she was a lovely sight to behold, filling the halls with light, instead of a ghostly presence, haunting the corridors with enough sorrow to make the Gods weep. 

Dowager Queen Rhaella was a capable woman and would be a capable ruler in Rhaegar’s stead. The king had seen what happened when one left governing to the lords of the small council during his father’s reign and wished to have someone he could fully trust instead. There was none better than his own mother, who was aware of the intricacies, having stood by and learned for so long. 

Ser Bonifer was almost always seen by her side and he was a good man, clever and kind. The sort of man the songs would speak of-- honorable and dutiful. The knight would join the royal family for supper and their meals, always with a smile on his face. He seemed to be enjoying being returned to Rhaella, just as much as she did him. The little princess Daenerys was fond of the Stormlander as well and he would dote upon the girl like a father, holding and indulging her every whim. 

The knight promised Viserys that one day, he would teach the prince how to joust and when Rhaenys grew wroth, stating that she also wished to learn how to, he spoke to her with the gentleness of a grandfather. _She deserves one._

 _“You are much too young, princess. Perhaps when you are older.”_ And that had seemed to be a confirmation that he would stay as long as Rhaella wished him to. 

The day that they would leave for their progress arrived quickly and Elia felt giddy with nerves as she stood by Lyanna and Rhaegar, ready to say her goodbyes to their family and companions. It was bittersweet in a way, for they would be gone for many moons and she would dearly miss Rhaella, Bonifer and Daenerys, alongside Lady Cella and Lord Monford. However, Viserys was joining them too, for he did not wish to part with his niece and wanted to see Westeros. Something he had been denied because of his father’s fears. 

“I will miss you,” Elia mumbled into Rhaella’s ear as she embraced the older woman, standing on her toes. The Queen-mother tightened her grip on the Dornishwoman and placed a kiss on Elia’s cheek when they departed.

“And I will miss you dearly too, my sweet flower. You must give my regards to your brothers and tell Prince Oberyn that I shall gladly beat him on that game of Cyvasse we discussed all those moons ago.” Chuckling, Elia told the silver-haired beauty that she would. 

Queen Elia could spot Rhaegar smiling and speaking his goodbyes to Lord Connington and Lord Velaryon from the corner of her eye, so she turned to Lady Cella who stood trying to soothe a crying Laena, who held onto Rhaenys. 

“You will see each other soon, sweetlings,” Lady Cella comforted her daughter softly, bending down to untangle the blonde blur from Princess Rhaenys who was also weeping, but not to the extent that Lady Laena was. 

“Yes and when we return, we will bring gifts from all over Westeros for you. Wouldn’t you like that, little dove?” Elia bent down and asked the girl with the watery, plum eyes. 

“Yes, M’queen,” the girl nodded and it made Elia smile. _A girl of three and she remembers her courtesies far better than I did at her age._

“Will you give me a hug before I depart, too?” the Dornishwoman asked the little girl who nodded, shyly wrapping tiny limbs around the Dornish queen’s neck. Elia held onto the girl and stood up, handing her to Lady Cella. 

“I shall dearly miss your witty remarks, Lady Cella. You do know how to brighten someone’s day,” Elia sighed and was awarded a dazzling grin from the woman. 

“And life will be tremendously dull without your presence, Your Grace. My Lord-husband has taken to telling the same jests all over again. I fear his wits are wandering,” she said loudly with a smirk directed at Lord Monford who gasped, trying to retain a chuckle.

“How dare you, woman?” came his reply, “If anyone’s wits are wandering, it is yours.” As the couple began light-heartedly bickering, she turned to Ser Bonifer. 

“I leave my good-mother in your hands, from what I’ve seen, they are very capable and I trust that you will take good care of her.” Pale, green eyes looked at her with a tenderness and a soft smile adorned his lips. 

“Always, Your Grace.” 

“Good,” Elia beamed, “Your company shall be duly sought after when we are on the progress, I daresay Rhaenys and Viserys will fuss the most.” That made the knight laugh richly and he moved to kiss her cheek. 

“I will pray to the Gods for your well-being and happiness, in the moons that you will be away.” 

“Thank you, good Ser.” 

After that, she spoke a witty goodbye to Lord Monford, who kissed both her hand and cheek, speaking of how she must have Oberyn pay another visit to the capital, in which she replied that she would. Then, Elia was met with Lord Connington and his strangely cold and withdrawn eyes. 

“Goodbye, My Lord,” was all the Dornishwoman said because she had no more to offer. 

“I wish you good fortune,” Lord Jon bowed but it did not really sound as if he meant the words. 

Rhaegar would ride alongside his Kingsguard companions for the day, leaving Lyanna, Elia, Viserys, Aegon, Aemon and Rhaenys in the wheelcarriage with a nursemaid and a septa. It was a very large carriage and had room for a cot that the youngest could share. As the trip droned on and the babes grew drowsier, Lyanna and Elia put them to bed and Viserys decided to tell Rhaenys of the Dance Of The Dragons and the adults listened intently-- Even though the story was nothing new to them. 

“And the king had a daughter with his first wife, Lady Aemma, whom they named Rhaenyra,” Viserys told the brown-haired toddler as she sat in his lap.

“It sounds like my name,” the girl frowned thoughtfully, “It’s pretty,” she decided. 

“It is very pretty, just like your own name,” her uncle murmured, kissing the princess’s cheek and making her giggle. 

“She was dubbed the realm’s delight by the singers and commons-- a renowned beauty whom all of court paid courtesy upon. King Viserys loved her dearly.” 

“Viserys, like you?” the girl asked in awe, making the prince and the queens chuckle at her eagerness. 

“Yes, one of my namesakes. Just like your namesakes include the conqueror’s wife and King Viserys’s cousin, Princess Rhaenys. The queen who never was.” 

“Why was she never queen?” Rhaenys asked, pouting, “Mother says I am to be queen.” 

“You are,” Lyanna chimed in, smiling gently at the child and the act somewhat soothed Elia’s heart. _My daughter will be queen, and my son will be king. Yes_. 

“King Jaehaerys chose to name his second son, Prince Baelon as the Prince of Dragonstone instead. He was the father of King Viserys, although he died before he could be king.” 

“That’s sad,” the girl mumbled, lavender eyes filling with tears. _My sweet little girl,_ Queen Elia sighed, wanting to take her daughter into her arms and kiss away the tears. 

“Yes,” Viserys allowed, kissing the top of his niece’s head and holding her tight, “But this was hundreds of years ago, Rhae.” 

“It’s still sad,” the girl murmured, pouting. 

“When we visit Dragonstone,” Viserys began softly, “We can pay a visit upon his grave, should your Queen-mother allow it and we can leave a pretty flower. The prince was given to the fire, as every Targaryen is but his place of rest is still marked. They always save part of the ashes to do so.” 

“Can we, mama?” Princess Rhaenys asked with wide eyes and Elia could not say no.

“That sounds like a fine idea, Viserys. They are our ancestors, after all.” 

“Lyanna and Ae can come too?” the girl wondered and the Dornishwoman nodded.

“Yes, should they so wish.” 

“We would love to, Princess,” Lyanna smiled and it looked like there was color in her cheeks. 

They arrived at Storm’s End during the black of night, greeted by Lord Stannis and his Lady-wife, who was with a child that could prove to be a threat. Or not.


	14. Uncertainty is a consuming thing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince Viserys had been ecstatic and taken to Renly’s company at first, but he seemed weary after the week passed and Rhaenys was fussing more oft than not, for her uncle was always busy training in the yards, consorting with Renly and the other children that were of his age. None of the Targaryen children had been allowed to mingle so freely during the reign of Aerys. Uncle and niece had grown even closer because of those circumstances and the time that came after. Their bond was precious and it was clear to Elia that her daughter was not enjoying being apart from the prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see but here's another chapter.  
> It's kind of a filler chapter because we need to get past this but it is not where Elia's story resides, which is why it's a bit shorter but there's lots of shit to come, so sit tight. 
> 
> I want to especially thank @odd_izzy for the very intricate and long comment on the previous chapter. It was very lovely to read the take on the story and profoundly flattering as an author to receive such a response to a few words I post on the internet because I can't deal with the way things were done in canon. This goes for everyone who comments, I love reading them and know I'm trash at replying but I appreciate it sooooo much. 
> 
> With that said, don't forget to leave a kudos if you enjoyed the story and drop a comment down below, nothing's too long. :) 
> 
> Until next time, (Which might be sooner rather than later because this bitch is finally on autumn breakkkkk) 
> 
> <3

Lord Stannis Baratheon was a man unlike any other. Though tall and broad, he was balding already, at the ripe age of one-and-twenty and there was a weathered, hard look in his blue eyes, like cold chips of ice. From what Elia had seen of Robert Baratheon, Lord Stannis did not take after his brother, who had been a laughing storm of a man, bawdy, loud and indulging as they come. _This one does not look like he enjoys anything_

“Lord Stannis, you may rise,” King Rhaegar bid the man solemnly and the kneeling storm rose, the moonlight catching in the ends of whatever black hair remained to him. The Dornishwoman noted that Rhaegar was slightly taller than his distant cousin. 

“Your Grace,” the man began and somehow, she was not surprised by his voice. _As gruff and weathered as he is,_ “Storm’s End is yours.” 

“We thank you for this hospitality,” Elia said with a queenly grace as she offered him her hand. Blue eyes met hers and for a second, Lord Stannis seemed to be at a loss, but he quickly recovered and kissed the top of her hand. Somehow, Lord Monford did it better. Only Lyanna, Rhaegar and Elia were at the front, accompanied by Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold. _Jaime accompanied Rhaenys and the others, to make sure that they settled in properly, then he will join us too._

“My king,” a breathy voice said next to Stannis, “Lord Stannis and I are honored to entertain you here at Storm’s End, for as long as you should wish.” The brother of the rebel-lord clenched his jaw as his wife spoke. Of course Queen Elia had heard tales of Cersei Lannister’s famed beauty. She had laid eyes upon Jaime, too and none could deny that even the sun would be put to shame in his presence-- but that did not make the Dornishwoman any less mesmerised when she looked at the young lioness of Casterly Rock. 

_The men in my vicinity are fond of referring to me as the sun,_ she thought awestruck, _but that woman truly is._ If Rhaegar noticed or appreciated Lady Cersei’s comeliness, he made no comment nor look of it, but simply smiled and replied with a courtesy and of how they would only be staying a month, as to not impose. 

“Nonsense,” the woman frowned and still managed to look beautiful doing so, “You would never be imposing, My king.” If Lady Baratheon had wanted to be discreet with her awe for the king, she was not succeeding. 

“We have other places to visit, as well, My Lady.” Lyanna’s voice came sharp as a whip and when Elia turned to her sister-wife, she saw the storm brewing within. _She is young and must learn how to handle a viper’s nest with caution and relinquish that hot blood in her veins._

“So we’ve been made aware of, My Queen” Lady Cersei nodded, “I hear the North is quite cold and unforgiving, alas some are not made for such climate.” 

“The North breeds them strong,” Queen Lyanna bristled. 

“Perhaps not enough,” the woman with hair as fair as sunshine shrugged, emerald eyes glowing in the dark light. _Jaime’s eyes,_ Elia noted, _but his are warmer and gentler. Cersei looks about as gentle as the spikes on the Iron Throne._ Lord Stannis’s grip on his wife’s arm seemed to tighten at that comment, making the Dornishwoman wince because it looked quite painful. However, if it hurt the former Lannister, she made no expression of it. That eerily composed face made the Dornishwoman wonder what laid beneath the facade. 

“Shall we show Your Graces to the chambers where you will be retiring? You must be weary and in need of rest.” There was no true concern in the lord’s words, but Elia smiled at both him and his pregnant wife. 

“Yes. Rest will do us some good.” Her eyes were on Lyanna’s, beckoning the second queen to let the quarrel rest. _Cersei is a woman of the South, she will goad and taunt behind a sickly-sweet and spiteful mask to receive a reaction. You must not indulge her._

The Lord of Storm’s End showed the king and his queen’s to the most luxurious apartments that she assumed the Stormlands could offer. All of them were adjoined but still separate enough for each to have their own space. The Dornishwoman forced herself to mutter all the courtesies and compliments that were due of her, but they had been travelling for so long that she was weary to the core and simply wished to be rid of the company and rest. 

When at last, the lord retired alongside his wife, Elia sighed in content. _It did not seem like Lord Stannis wished to stay with us longer than duty demanded anyway. Rhaegar killed Robert on the Trident. No matter how much the brothers may have disliked each other, Robert was still Stannis’s blood and my husband took that from him._

Once inside, the servants helped her remove the gown and don a shift, before being dismissed. After that, Elia moved to sit by the vanity, in order to brush her hair. As the Dornishwoman was combing with even strokes until the hair sparkled a deep copper in the candlelight, the adjoined door opened and in strolled her husband and his other wife. 

“We wanted to bid you a good-eve,” the wolf-girl smiled kindly, Rhaegar’s arm around her waist. _A few years ago I may have been touched by the consideration but now I could not care any less._

“And the same to you,” Elia murmured, placing the brush down at the vanity. 

“We will be joining Lord Stannis and Lady Cersei for the breaking of fast tomorrow,” Rhaegar informed, ”And perhaps we shall see what will become of this betrothal with Renly.” Lyanna seemed to bristle at his words, making Queen Elia raise an eyebrow. 

“I noticed you are not very fond of Lady Cersei.” Queen Lyanna bit her lip and spoke. 

“She is not very… inviting.” 

“Did you expect her to be?” Elia almost scoffed. 

“No but…” Lyanna faltered, cheeks heating up. 

“Tell her, Rhaegar.” Their husband scratched the side of his head with a perplexed expression.

“What are you referring to?” _Is he tired or simply daft and oblivious?_

“That you were once to be wed to Lady Cersei.” That made the king understand and he nodded.

“It was what her father wished but mine own had other ideas. We were never betrothed or anything of the sort, so why does it matter?” 

“My point is,” she turned to Lyanna, “That some wounds never truly close and slights grow into bitterness. Look to our husband and then at Stannis-- Would you have wanted to exchange places with her? Lady Cersei is every inch a Southron woman and will hide behind snide remarks that cannot truly be counted as slights. You have happened upon these women in court-- learn.” 

“I’ve done nothing to offend her,” the young woman frowned.

“Just like I did nothing to offend the people of King’s Landing but be Dornish,” Elia sighed, “But you’ve done _everything_ to offend her. The man of every single one of her dreams took another wife-- you. Whilst she has to contend with the spare who became an heir, a man as unyielding and rigid as the very stones in this castle.” 

Rhaegar watched the interaction with wary eyes and the silence made her laugh a little.

“Do you still not see? She wishes that it would have been _her._ That he would have taken her instead because she is beautiful and most like thinks herself more worthy than a girl from the North and a feeble Dornishwoman who struggled to procure heirs.” 

“It does not _matter_ what she thinks,” the king spoke in that voice that demanded everyone to listen, fire in the baritone notes, “She is _not_ my wife and can you cease to invalidate both of yourselves?” 

“It is the _truth,_ ” Elia bit back, “But nonetheless-- Let her make those silent jabs, we will leave this place-- she shall never. It is a terrible feeling, to be dissatisfied with how your life turned out and I suspect she feels it in full. You are young and with that comes hot blood rushing through your veins but do not fall for the carefully planted ploys.” 

“You are right. I apologise for my earlier behavior, it was not becoming,” Lyanna shrugged, looking down onto the marble floors. 

“For if you do grow wroth with her, it shall reflect badly upon all of us and we cannot afford such attention and gossip. The court, lords and ladies will see the hot-blooded girl from the North snark at a simpering, sweet, Southron lady with child, no matter how you may justify it. Which is why my word of advice is to leave her be, for life will most like do much more than lash out on her.” 

“Yes, I thought so too, after our conversation,” Queen Lyanna nodded. 

“I am not your mother and you are a queen, you mustn’t think of these matters until it’s too late and the damage is already caused-- Or wait for Rhaegar, I or anyone else to make you aware of it. The time for your girlhood and mistakes are gone. A queen must think of _all._ ” When Elia looked to Rhaegar, she noted that he was leaning against the wall, not wanting to interfere. _He knows I am only speaking the truth._

“Thank you for the wisdom, Elia,” she smiled slightly with glistening, grey eyes, “And I hope you sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Lyanna,” the Dornishwoman replied softly and watched as the young woman retreated into her own chambers, looking back at Rhaegar with a questioning glance. 

“I will be there soon,” he nodded in the wolf-girl’s direction and then, there was only him and his first queen left in the chambers. 

Silently, the king stood up and walked toward her, taking hold of the brush at the vanity with slender, pale hands. She leaned back in the chair and allowed him to continue brushing her hair, relaxing into the sensation. 

“You are a great observer, it seems,” he murmured, “But then again, you have always been.” _No, I haven’t. I didn’t notice how the prophecies ensnared you so much that you publicly shamed me by crowning another girl as the Queen Of Love And Beauty. I did not observe how both men I loved would betray me. If I had, then mayhaps I could have struck some sense into the both of you._

Elia made no reply but a soft sigh and soon enough, he discarded the brush back atop the vanity and put his lips on her exposed neck, expertly sliding the straps down her shoulders. 

“You are very needy,” she scolded lightly and felt him smile against the warm skin, his hands moving down her body from behind, touching and caressing. 

“You are very teasing,” he retaliated, silver-gold hair tickling down the nape of her neck. 

“In what way?” she asked, slightly chuckling, “I only sat here.” 

“Sometimes,” her husband sighed, kissing the side of her jaw so lightly that she wondered if he ever truly put his lips there, or if they were simply the ghost of a presence, “That is enough.” 

“I doubt it,” she breathed.

“Then doubt it,” he shrugged, breath hot against her ear, “But I have missed you in my arms.” And for a second, she thought he was someone else. Another man, so different yet so alike. 

“Mhm,” she muttered, turning her neck around to meet his lips and earning a chuckle. 

“So impatient,” the king smiled against the kiss, “But it is late and I shall leave you to your rest. We have a long day tomorrow.” 

“Now who is the tease?” She asked, not truly wroth because she was tired, like he said. Rhaegar’s indigo eyes looked purple almost, then violet and at last; tinged with green, “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, words naught but a wicked whisper against her ear. 

“Arse,” she cursed, trying to bite her lip to keep from returning his smile. The king winked and then he was gone, leaving Elia to her bed with conflicting thoughts that brought no comfort at all. 

***

Their first week at Storm’s End was a strange one, to put it lightly. As anticipated, Lord Stannis did not make any great arguments against the betrothal of Lady Laena Velaryon and his brother, the young Renly. 

_“Lady Laena is our kin, a sweet and promising girl,” Elia made sure to make the lord aware of as they sat in his solar, discussing the betrothal and sipping spiced wine. Lord Baratheon eyed her with unflinching eyes that she could not quite discern._

_“It is a rich match,” Rhaegar added, “House Velaryon is mighty and wealthy. Much more than a third-born son could truly aspire for.”_

_"He will be sent to King’s Landing, then, Your Graces?” Stannis asked, his voice hard and unyielding. There is no false flattery that could reach this man, no ploys he would fall for. The man may have sworn fealty to the Targaryen king, but not for any great love. It was for duty, for the prosperity of his house. Otherwise the Baratheons would have been humbled and destroyed, like the Reynes of Castamere, the Dornishwoman pondered, turning her gaze upon Rhaegar who looked solemn as he replied._

_“Yes. When the time comes, My Lord. When Lady Laena and him wed, they shall retire to Driftmark and build a life there.” Too many Baratheons in a close vicinity could be equivalent to danger._

_“A hostage?” Stannis grinded his teeth, not coating any of his words in sugar or honey. His honesty was somehow… refreshing._

_“The ward of Lord Monford Velaryon,” Elia explained, her voice soft and soothing._

_“That is only the prettier word for hostage, My Queen. It fools no one.”_

_“He will be perfectly safe and cared for. No one would hurt him.” Not like your brother would have hurt Aegon and Rhaenys. How would you feel, My Lord, knowing your children were doomed to die? She wondered._

During the evenings, they supped with the Lord and Lady Baratheon, which was quite a strange affair, if Queen Elia was to be sincere. Cersei Baratheon was a young woman, but more cunning than those twice her years. There was always a glint in her emerald eyes, an ambitious one, the kind that searched for power and what she could do to attain it. The woman as fair as the sun was kind to Elia but only courteous with Lyanna, slightly frosty and provoking. 

However, there was that way Lady Cersei looked at Elia sometimes-- the one that many before had gazed at the Dornish Princess with. _Disgust veiled as empathy or worse; pity._ She had been born frail, struggled to bear her husband’s children and was ever delicate of health. _I know that she looks down upon me and wishes that it had been her who wed Rhaegar. Stannis is more stone than man and it is difficult, when you are alone and thrust into a new, foreign place. It is worse when you have no comfort but yourself._ At least she’d had Rhaegar, however absorbed he had been with his prophecies. _Cersei wishes for comfort but there is no safety to be found is Stannis’s arms._

The Lord of Storm’s End was not a man of many words, as the stale, tense and slightly awkward dinners would prove. Cersei spoke of Casterly Rock, history and other superficial matters, yet it all seemed like empty conversation and Elia knew that it was. Then there was also the habit of the lioness speaking with the king as if it was only the two of them in the room. Elia was counting down the days until they left for Dorne. Her home. _Where I will not feel like a stranger in these halls, or a ghost haunting my chambers._ Her family would be there, and what was the sun without its rays? 

Renly was a shocking blur of large, blue eyes and black hair. A true Baratheon, he would surely grow as tall as his brother, or even surpass him. The young heir was a courteous thing who loved excursions and flamboyant colors, always taking note that his hair was done perfectly and dressing immaculately. _He prefers the arm of Viserys and the other lordlings more than he does the pretty little ladies, though,_ she had observed. 

The prince Viserys had been ecstatic and taken to Renly’s company at first, but he seemed weary after the week passed and Rhaenys was fussing more oft than not, for her uncle was always busy training in the yards, consorting with Renly and the other children that were of his age. None of the Targaryen children had been allowed to mingle so freely during the reign of Aerys. Uncle and niece had grown even closer because of those circumstances and the time that came after. Their bond was precious and it was clear to Elia that her daughter was not enjoying being apart from the prince. 

Aegon and Aemon were the ones who were the happiest, _but aren’t our happiest times when we are unaware of the machinations of this world and the cruel burdens we must bear?_ The brothers spent their days being fawned over by their visitors and those lords and ladies who decided to pay their respects upon the queens. The Dornishwoman was pleased for the princes. _Let them be young whilst they still can, the world forces us all to grow up far too fast for our liking._

Storm’s End seemed to change even Ser Jaime’s nature. He was reunited with his twin but there seemed to be something betwixt the two, yet Elia was the only one who seemed to notice the slight change. _No one truly pays attention to the knights of the Kingsguard, so long as they do their duty. We oft forget that they are flesh and blood like us, full of intricate feelings they cannot quite name._

Jaime seemed well enough at first, still donning that teasing smirk and emerald orbs glowing in that certain way that they simply did when he was in the queen’s company. Yet after a few days, he began appearing strangely withdrawn, with a torn sort of gaze in his eyes. As if he was at a crossroad and did not know if he should remain as he was, or cross over to either side.

She had made no mention of the peculiar behavior, for was it truly her place? _I am his queen, and he is sworn to shield me._ Though she viewed them as close companions, mayhaps he had changed his mind regarding their unconventional sort of bond. _I should not jest myself by thinking we could have been anything other than our titles._

Yet it was truly gnawing on her now, his short, abrupt replies and the far-away look that he boasted so often. Now they’d spent a fortnight in Storm’s End and he only seemed to be declining. 

“Where is uncle Vissy?” the princess frowned, her lower lip trembling and with confused, lavender eyes.

“He is most like in the yards with his companions, sweetling,” Elia stroked her daughter’s cheek before returning to embroidering a sun on a field with emerald grass and violet skies. 

“I want him back.” The comment made a fond smile appear on the Dornishwoman’s lips. _You will make a fine queen, my child._

“He is not gone from you, sweetling. It will ease when we visit your cousins and uncles in Dorne.” She eyed her daughter comfortingly. 

“Jaime seems sad, mama, why is he sad?” Rhaenys suddenly asked, lavender eyes wide and far too distraught for her mother’s liking. 

“He is not sad,” she told the princess gently, “Sometimes… We cannot be happy all the time, sweetling. Ser Jaime simply has a lot to think of during this time.” _I would pay good coin to know what that is._

“Alright, mama,” the girl nodded, earning a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Let me tell you what,” Elia smiled and watched her daughter’s eyes widen, “We can find Viserys so that you can play and Ser Jaime can come along? Would that be to your taste, My Lady?” she asked, chuckling slightly when the brown-haired Targaryen nodded several times. 

“Yes!” 

“Only after you finish that drawing you are working on,” the Dornishwoman rose an eyebrow and analyzed the little strokes of red and blue and yellow. 

“It’s for papa,” Rhaenys confided.

After a short while, both queen and princess had finished their activities and departed their chambers, met by Ser Jaime who stood guard outside-- As befitted the sworn shield of a princess. 

“Ser Jaime,” Elia greeted, “We were thinking of going in search for the prince and then exploring the yards. Perchance you would like to join us?” It was not truly a question, duty commanded him to but the Dornishwoman never liked demanding. 

“Of course, Your Grace,”the knight replied with dazed, emerald eyes. That caused Elia to frown but she quickly composed her face and began walking, however the young princess remained behind them. 

“Rhaenys, come along. You wished to see you uncle, did you not?” the Dornish queen asked her daughter with a mother’s tenderness. 

“Do as your mother bids, princess,” the golden-haired man added with a smile but it did not look true. Princess Rhaenys instead chose to walk toward the knight and clutched his free hand.

“Don’t be sad, Jaime,” the girl beckoned with large, lavender eyes framed by dark lashes.

“I am not sad,” he chuckled, bending down to pick Rhaenys up, kissing her head, “And you should not be so severe, princess. You are only a girl of four.” 

“Mama says we cannot be happy all of the time.” That caused Ser Jaime’s eyes to turn upon Elia and they truly did look sad upon hearing that. 

“Your mother is quite correct,” he began, holding the princess gently in his arms, “And perhaps too learned for her own years,” Jaime finished, smiling slightly as he looked at his queen. _Even when sad, angry or indifferent, he still manages to be too beautiful for any words._

“I am older than you,” Elia reminded the knight as they began walking, once more. She was in a gown of emerald, gifted to her by the Lady of Storm’s End. _It is pretty, Cersei has an eye for detail._ The gift unsettled Queen Elia, though. _She gives me this and surely expects something else in return. What? I do not know._ The Dornishwoman would surely come to find out. 

“That does not make you old,” he murmured. _My heart makes me old, Jaime. The grief makes me old. The pain, anger and uncertainty ages me beyond what any years could._

That strained silence took hold of them and only the young princess seemed immune to it, blathering on about Balerion, Aegon, Aemon and Viserys-- Occasionally earning a humming sound from Jaime as he listened. It was almost a relief when they reached the yards where Viserys was consorting with the young lordlings and Renly. 

“My Prince,” Elia called out and lilac eyes turned to her, instantly donning a shy smile. She smiled at her good-brother as he walked over to them, greeting the Dornishwoman first, then Jaime and then his niece, who had been very impatient in her sworn shield’s arms by then. 

“I want to play,” Rhaenys huffed, frowning in her little gown, arms crossed over her chest as she stood in front of her uncle. Warily, Viserys looked back to the young lordlings who looked to be laughing, Renly in the center-- dressed in a handsome doublet of blue and ocean-green. 

“We can do that,” the prince replied, bending down to kiss her cheek, earning a pleased smile from Rhaenys. _He seems almost relieved that he needn’t spend any more time with them for the day. Perhaps it is exhausting to be around so many, when your father sheltered and isolated you._

“I saw a fine area of benches and ponds, a few days past. Perhaps we can order the kitchens to send us on our way with a few pastries and all should be splendid?” Elia asked, earning a nod from all of the children, so that was what they did. 

Once by the benches, she quickly asked Viserys how he felt about Rhaenys clinging to his arms. The girl was blabbing to Jaime, remaining unaware to the conversation. 

“If it irks you, then it is alright to say so, Viserys. You need companions of your own age as well.” 

“They think it is funny when she always comes to me and liken it to their annoying, little sisters… But,” he faltered, “I do not think it is annoying and I like her company more than I do theirs on the occasion. It can be overwhelming and Rhaenys is never the sort. She is quite enough.” _Of course it overwhelms him, I should have realised. Viserys never had the conventional life of other lordlings and princes but he must learn how to, now. Otherwise it shall be hard when he inevitably weds and must leave us behind._

“Sweetling, you do know that you mustn’t spend every waking hour with them? Sometimes it is alright to decline and do other things.” Her good-brother frowned and chewed on his lower lip, like Rhaegar was wont to when he was thoughtful. 

“Rhaegar told me that I must try to build good relations with Renly, that the prosperity of the realm weighs upon it. I do not want to disappoint my brother.” 

“Viserys,” Elia said, crouching down and putting her hand on his shoulder, brown eyes meeting lilac skies, “The prosperity of the realm weighs upon much more than that, but it is lovely that you are so dutiful. Rhaegar would never be disappointed in you, my love.” _All Viserys wants is the love of his family, the only people who matter to him._

“Really?” It tore at her heart, how desperately the boy wished for that reassurance. 

“I would never lie to you, sweetling.” With that said, the Targaryen prince wrapped his arms around the Dornishwoman, embracing her tightly before departing and taking his niece’s hand.

“I hear there are frogs in the pond, would you like to see?”

“Yes!” came Rhaenys’s squeal and off they were.

Elia chose to sit down on the bench as she gazed at the children playing in the pond. Their happiness and utter lust for life warmed her heart. She was aware of Ser Jaime standing beside her, like a silent shadow. 

“Sit down,” the Dornishwoman bid him with a sigh, “They are fine.” 

“I would rather stand, My Queen,” came his reply and Elia frowned and felt close to bursting with annoyance. 

“What is with you?” she hissed, turning her head to look at him, “You’ve changed completely.” The sun was touching his golden curls, making them glisten in the light of the midday. 

“I do not know what you are speaking of, My Queen.” 

“Elia,” she whispered, feeling the strange urge to weep at his sudden cool nature, “I told you that it is _only_ Elia when we are alone.” Sometimes she could go days without hearing her own name being spoken. It was always ‘Your Grace’ or ‘My Queen’. _I wish to be human, on the occasion. Even if only for a few fleeting moments._

The Dornishwoman was aware that this was the price she had to pay for the crown, but it was so very taxing. 

“I am fine, Elia,” he said, his voice like a smooth tide.

“No you are not,” she insisted stubbornly, turning to see Rhaenys giggling at Viserys splashing her gown with a few drops of water from the pond. 

“The princess is ever your daughter,” Ser Jaime changed the subject, a soft smile tickling his lips. 

“I should surely hope so,” she smiled, despite that dark, nagging feeling in her chest that something was wrong, “But something is not right with you, Jaime. Is it your sister? Are you worried for her?” 

“The only one I would never worry for, is Cersei,” he began and something dark clouded his eyes, “I am alright.” 

“Are people giving you grief?” she asked desperately, wanting her companion back. Why it hurt to see him like this, she did not know. _I care for him deeply, that is it,_ “Tell me what is wrong and I can help you make it right.” That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, judging from the knight’s reaction. 

“No,” he snapped, rubbing his temple with both of his hands, “There are some things that I can deal with myself, you are not my mother, Elia. Stop acting as if you are!” The knight raising his voice and speaking to her in that way, shocked her the most. 

“You are right,” she hissed, “I _am_ your queen.” The words hung between them like a dark cover of sleeting ice and cold, cold winds that brought upon destruction everywhere they blew. 

“Fuck,” she heard him grumble but paid it no heed. _If he wishes to act like a spoiled child, then let him._ From the distance, she spied Viserys running around with Rhaenys on his shoulders.

“You have to understand,” Jaime Lannister said suddenly, “All my secrets _cannot_ be yours to keep. All my woes are _not_ your burdens to bear.”

“How chivalrous of you,” she replied tersely, thinking of another knight who’d kept secrets and woes from her. _And look where it got him. Look where it got us._

But Jaime Lannister was no Arthur Dayne. No more than he was Rhaegar Targaryen.

***

That day in the yards had left its traces in the Dornishwoman’s interactions with her daughter’s sworn shield. He was strangely distant still and all their conversations seemed to be doused in a rigidness that simply would not take its leave. _There is no doubt in my mind that he will continue to do his duty splendidly and protect my daughter and family but…_ Elia missed him, she did. _He made me feel like I wasn’t the queen I am._ Sometimes, that had been one of the greatest comforts. 

Rhaegar had spent much of the first part of their stay at Storm’s End making plans and discussing matters of great importance with Lord Stannis. Especially insinuating that the child born from Lady Cersei might receive a betrothal with a member of the royal family, Viserys’s and Aemon’s names being thrown around. Matters would be trickier, were the child to be a boy, but like the spider had told them; only time would tell. _It will only cause undue concern and stress if we mull over it._

Lyanna and Elia had done their duties as queen by consorting with Lady Cersei, however stale and slightly malicious those interactions would be. Queen Elia would oft have to remind herself that perhaps part of the reason for Cersei’s nature, was that she was a young girl, _sent away from home to wed a man colder than these halls of stone. No one would survive, lest they cover their hearts in armor and refuse to let anyone see them bleed._ Cersei was a lioness of Casterly Rock, the last thing that the Dornishwoman would expect from her, was to show weakness. 

However proud and cool that Lady Baratheon could be, she was still alone and with child. _Stannis must not bring her any great comfort in that regard. I had Rhaegar, she has no family here, no one to soothe her fears or bring gentle comfort._ It had shown itself once, when it was only Elia alongside Aegon, joining Lady Cersei for tea and cakes. 

_“Was it difficult,” the emerald-eyed woman asked, gazing at the princeling peculiarly as she cradled the cup in her grasp tightly._

_“What do you mean?” Queen Elia replied, adjusting a drowsy Aegon in her arms._

_“To bear them, to care for them… to love them?” Does she not? Does she not love the babe within her? The Dornishwoman wondered. Elia had never thought of it that way, she never had to learn to care and love the children that she’d borne. It had come naturally. When Rhaenys first kicked and showed me a speck of her spirit… When Aegon met my eyes with his of Targaryen purple._

_“Do you not love the child you are carrying?” Elia asked carefully and it took several moments before Lady Cersei replied, having composed her face into a false smile that the Dornishwoman saw through easily. I know it because on the occasion, I don it, she thought._

_“Of course I do,” the lady chuckled, taking a sip of her tea, “What mother does not?”_

_There was an emptiness behind those emerald eyes, though._

_And Elia could not help but feel immensely unsettled and hopeless about it._

_She’ll come to love them, she must. That is one front in which a mother has no other choice._

Much of the time spent in Storm’s End remained the same after that, their routines being followed somewhat impeccably. It made the Dornish queen restless, she yearned for her homeland, where the people would be warm and not cold. Where the sun would touch her skin and fill her with a soothing warmth. Elia yearned for the safety that only Dorne could make her feel. She longed for Oberyn and to meet his daughters, for Doran, Mellario, Quentyn and Arianne. _The soft beaches and blue skies. Ashara and her babe._

She felt this even more fiercely, as they grew ever closer to their departure. Now, there was only one day before they were set to leave and her heart was near bursting with excitement, often taking the time to tell Rhaenys and Viserys about the beauty of Dorne. 

_"You will play in the water gardens, like I did before you,” Elia smiled at the children who were cuddled up in Viserys’s large bed._

_“Can we swim, mama?” Rhaenys asked with glee, making her mother kiss the soft, brown curls that covered her head._

_“Of course, my love.” Viserys remained quiet, donning a thoughtful look as he stroked his niece’s back absentmindedly._

_“Is something amiss, Viserys?” The boy turned his lilac eyes upon the Dornishwoman and she noted that they seemed shinier, as if he wished to weep._

_“No,” he murmured but caved under Elia’s expectant gaze, “It’s just… What if they do not like me? My brother was not very kind to them, nor my father.”_

_“Their sins are not yours to pay, Viserys,” she reminded him, “And Dorne nests within you too. Princess Daenerys, your sister’s namesake wed my ancestor. I wed Rhaegar and had your niece and nephew. Prince Maekar wed Lady Dyanna Dayne, who boasted some Martell in her, too. There is Martell blood in you Targaryens, like there is Targaryen blood in us Martells. However distant it may be. We are bonded.” That seemed to somewhat calm the prince._

_“I don’t want them to hate me,” he whispered._

_“No one hates you,” Rhaenys whined, wrapping tiny arms around her uncle. The prince smiled and kissed her cheek._

_“Rhaenys is quite correct, sweetling,” Elia began warily, “Dorne does not hurt innocent children. They will love you, just wait and see.”_

_“I am not a child,” the prince smiled, reaching out to hold Elia’s hand gently, making her eyes water at the tender heart Viserys boasted._

_“You are,” she sighed, “And believe me when I tell you that it is a gift. For you to have been so young when all of this occurred. You have the rest of your life to be grown, some of us can no longer boast that gift. Nurture it, cherish it, Viserys. It will be gone before long.”_

_“Alright, Elia. I did not wish to make you melancholy,” he frowned._

_“You didn’t,” she chuckled, feeling a tear escape her eyes, “I can never be sad when I am with you.” Somehow, it did not look as if the prince believed her._

They had one last supper scheduled with the Lady and Lord Baratheon this eve, then they would set out for Dorne in the midday, the next morn. 

As Elia was being made ready by one of the servants, she thought over what she would say to Lord Stannis and his wife. _I must thank them for their hospitality, as befit a queen, even though his brother tore this realm apart, with the help of my husband and Lyanna, of course. Then I shall wish Cersei good fortune with her babe and that I’ll light a candle to the Mother for her wellbeing._ After that, the Dornish queen did not truly know what else to say but assumed that it would come to her during the meal. _I must humanise myself, they must see my children and know that they are good. That we are trying to mend the hurt caused._

The supper came quickly enough, Elia arriving with Rhaenys and Viserys, as Rhaegar arrived with his younger wife. The long, oaken table was covered in dishes ranging from meat to fish, alongside a few platters of berries, cakes and sweets for after dinner. Lord and Lady Baratheon rose to greet them and did not sit down until the king had, as courtesy demanded. 

Elia was seated with Rhaenys to her side and Rhaegar to the other. She had bid Viserys to keep Rhaenys somewhat entertained because otherwise the princess could grow quite bored. And she knew that a bored princess quickly grew into a whiny one, especially as she was only a girl of four. Dutifully, the boy had agreed and promised to do his best. 

Lord Stannis was dressed in a blue doublet, devoid of any intricacies but for his house’s sigil on his chest. Lady Cersei was dressed handsomely in a crimson gown with gold threading and rubies along the sides of it, her golden hair and emerald eyes only made it seem more lovely. _She looks the image of her brother… only in a woman’s form. Some may say I am like Oberyn but we are not one in the same. He is tall, robust and boasts more humor than I do._ Elia thought that she was somewhere in the middle when it came to her brothers’ nature. _Kind and calm, like Doran but sharp and witty, like Oberyn. Perhaps the Gods intended there to be a middle-ground as each brother is opposite to one another._

At the thought of Jaime, Elia found her gaze absentmindedly searching for him until it landed upon him, standing by the door of the hall, his face a stoic mask in his plate of gilded armor. He made no notice of her eyes upon him, so she quickly turned around to her own plate and decided to fill Rhaenys’s. _I know that the servants can do it, but I wish to. I enjoy doing it._

Once done, she bid Viserys to tell the servants what he’d like on his and then turned her eyes upon Rhaegar who was conversing with Lord Stannis mildly. He was dressed in black and indigo, making not only his eyes stand out, but also the crown atop his head seemed to grow more vivid. Lyanna looked the picture of composed in a silvery gown with blue embroidery, showing flowers. Elia did not know how she would feel if they were to have been roses. 

As if sensing the Dornishwoman’s gaze on her, Lyanna turned steely, grey eyes upon Elia and smiled. The Dornishwoman acknowledged it with a slight smile and a nod, turning to Lady Cersei when addressed. 

“I hear you are travelling into Dorne after Storm’s End, My Queen.” The andal woman’s voice was like smooth honey and Elia could not help but wonder what it would feel like, to be so beautiful. _Amazing, no doubt._

“Yes, My Lady. It has been a long time coming.” 

“I do recall your brother, from when he visited all those years ago.” Cersei seemed almost wistful. _Tell me, girl, do you wish it was Oberyn instead of Stannis that you wed? At least you would have wed a prince, then and your children would’ve been princes and princesses. Alas, it was not to your father’s taste._

“He is quite hard to forget, My Lady,” Rhaegar chimed in, seeming amused. _Both you and I know that you fear Oberyn somewhat, dear husband. Whether you admit it or not. The viper is terrible when roused… But then again, so is the dragon._

Cersei seemed to light up like the midday sun, when spoken to by the king. Her voice became that peculiarly composed and breathless one that so many ladies boasted in his presence. The Dornishwoman wondered if her voice had ever sounded like that. When she’d been conversing with dragons and stars and lions. 

“You speak true, My King.” Rhaegar gave the emerald-eyed woman a polite smile at that. 

“I would wish to take this moment in order to give thanks to your hospitality, My Lord,” Elia addressed Stannis in her queenly voice. 

“I am pleased Storm’s End was to your liking, My Queen,” the lord replied, sounding as if he could not have been bothered less by her statement. Elia understood. _He is not the man for empty flattery, but we all must speak them on the occasion._

“The children adored it, did you not, Prince Viserys?” The boy nodded eagerly, speaking of what a good companion young Renly was. 

“And I would wish to bid you good fortune with the arriving babe,” Elia smiled, “Children are a wonder.” Rhaegar smiled and placed his hands atop hers and Lyanna’s on the table.

“Yes, I think Queen Elia speaks for all of us when she says that.” 

“We thank you,” Lord Stannis nodded but Cersei looked to have paled at the words but still donned that composed smile. _The love will come to her, it must. A mother needs to love her child._

After they’d finished dining, both Elia and Rhaegar followed Viserys and Rhaenys to their chambers and bid them a good eve, before retiring to their own. Her husband seemed to be in merry spirits, not retiring to his, but staying in hers and conversing, speaking about the roads they would take and how Aemon had mumbled something that sounded like ‘papa’. When the king was done parroting on, he decided on bedding her as well, which she did not have any objections toward. It had been a long day and the relief was welcome. 

***

“Fuck,” Rhaegar cursed as he rolled over on his back, breathing deeply. The Dornishwoman chuckled and reached out to place the covers all the way up to her neck. It had been warmer when he’d been on top of her. _This harsh climate does not suit me._ She was a daughter of the sun and did not care much for the cold. _I was not made for it._ Her husband however, had no issues with it.

“That took unusually long,” she turned to gaze at him with a wicked smirk. Rhaegar met her eyes and scoffed. 

“You jest, My Queen. Very amusing.” 

“Was it a jest?” She asked him pointedly with a raised eyebrow. Before the Dornishwoman had any time to fashion another response, her husband was on top of her, his face mere inches from hers. 

“Aren’t you humorous?” he asked dryly, silver-gold hair tickling her cheeks, “Sometimes I wonder if you intend to wake the dragon purposefully.”

“Oh, husband,” she laughed, dragging her nails along his back, earning a slight hiss, “One day I will make you fuck that dragon you always speak of, yourself. If you fancy it so much,” Elia finished with a shrug, watching as her husband’s lips cracked and showed the sliver of a smile. 

“Only if you do it with me,” he played along, winking.

“I am sure something can be arranged,” the Dornishwoman replied airily, leaning forward to capture his lips, gently tugging at the lower one. 

After that, he wrapped his arms around her delicate frame and kissed her shoulder. 

“She wants you,” Elia murmured, absentmindedly stroking the arms he had around her. 

“Who?” Rhaegar mumbled and she felt a strange urge to laugh. _Everyone, be they man or woman wants a piece of the handsome king with his somber eyes and pouting lips._

“Lady Cersei.” 

“That may be,” her husband shrugged, “But we cannot all have what we want.” _No, but that did not stop you from trying to take whatever you wished._

“She is beautiful and I am sure you could’ve had her, but you did not choose her.” That caused Rhaegar to sigh. 

“The prophecy spoke of ice and fire, not fire and gold.” 

“Prophecies are fickle things.” 

“Can we leave it, Elia? This is our life. It does no good to dwell on the things that could have been. I wish to cherish these moments, we’ve not had the time to properly engage in a long time. I’ve missed you.” His hand slipped underneath the covers and drifted down her stomach to the inside of her thigh, before moving upward again in slow motions. _Missed me, or simply wanted a good fuck? Sometimes I cannot tell the difference._ She had been able to once, but no longer. It was all too blurry. 

“Fine,” she muttered but he grabbed her hips and pulled her closer, leaning in to kiss her neck before turning her to face him. Indigo on brown. 

“Petulance does not suit you, my love,” he whispered, inching closer to her ear, “It makes you look as if you’re begging for a chiding. I’d be happy to offer one. After all, I am a benevolent man.” His hand inching downward made her smirk, for she knew exactly what he was getting at. _Sleep can wait a little longer, I suppose._

“I’d love to see you try,” she challenged and there was something in his voice. Something she could not quite discern but it made her feel strangely as if they were back on Dragonstone. _Newly wedded and not quite scarred by the world yet._

* * *

They arrived in Dorne during a pleasantly warm day, with thousands of Dornishmen and women arriving to yell their greetings for their old princess who was now a newly-made queen and her children. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so y'all probably understand why this is a filler chapter but I didn't want to spend unnecessary time in the Stormlands because Dorne's been a long time coming. Stay tuned :)


	15. A childhood of forgotten memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said "sooner rather than later" even I was surprised that it was *this* soon. 
> 
> Here's chapter 15, beware I wrote it in the middle of the night and can barely keep my eyes open so I'm sure you'll happen upon some mistake. I plead your forgiveness in advance. 
> 
> Welllll, Your favorite duo is in the houseeeee and this is reunion deluxe. Enjoy the first day in Dorne because there's way more shit where that came from, stay tuned. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a kudos if you enjoyed this story and pleaseee leave a comment down below (We've already established what a whore I am for comments, especially long ones.) 
> 
> With that said, 
> 
> goodnight lmao, until next time.

“They hate me,” Lyanna said, sounding more like a sad girl than a queen of seven kingdoms, “They hate me. I should not be here,” she repeated. _No you should not,_ Elia silently agreed. _But it would be an even further slight if you were not, I fear it is a double-edged sword. Damned if you are, damned if you aren’t._ It was only the king and his queens travelling in the first open litter, through the streets of sunspear, all the way to the palace. 

There were people screaming, chanting so loudly that Elia could barely make out what they were saying. Sometimes it sounded like _‘Elia’_ , other times, _‘My Queen,_ ’ _‘Your Grace,’_ _‘Princess Elia.’_ Then, they called out Rhaenys’s name, and Aegon’s too. Never Rhaegar’s and certainly not Lyanna’s. That made the queen feel strangely pleasant. Dorne had not forgiven their sins, no more than she had. _The truth will wait until the end of time, no matter how much you try to sweeten it or make it smell less foul._

There wasn’t a malicious sort of pleasure she took in it, she only revelled in the justice. There hadn’t been much of the latter in the Dornishwoman’s life. _I must take what I am offered._ However, she did notice how some Dornishmen and women, not all but some would turn and spit on the ground when they looked to the Northern queen and even their king. How some would chant insults. _If I heard them, then surely Lyanna did. But I did tell her that my people would not welcome her with open arms. She was being fucked in a tower as their princess was held hostage with the heirs and publicly shamed. It is not something that a kingdom can forget and old wounds still sting when they bleed._

The Northerner looked as if she wished to hide and the heat was not doing her any good, she looked faint and clammy in her woolen gown. _I hope she did not bring more of those, silks and samite and lighter materials are all that can provide some relief in the sweltering sun of Dorne._ Elia kept smiling and waving as she turned from the people to Lyanna. Rhaegar did his part, smiling and waving but it was not true and he looked weary, as if being there brought back memories-- a shame he wished to forget and bury. _But you cannot, no more than we can. The fruit of it is everywhere we look, it will never leave us._

“It will be alright, we are soon at the gates of the palace,” Rhaegar murmured, placing his free hand atop the young queen’s resting one and squeezing it, as to bring comfort. Elia found the gesture to be too coddling for her taste. _Lyanna needs to know her crimes, how else will she make amends and pay for them?_ No, it would not do for the Dornishwoman. 

“Lyanna,” she addressed the fellow queen, who turned steely eyes upon her, still rimmed with the residue of youth. _I told you to kill the girl, kill her and it will not hurt so much. Kill her, just like I killed the princess of Dorne,_ “Listen to me and listen well.” Elia’s voice was almost drowned in the noise but the Northerner inched closer, almost toppling over the king. 

“I am,” the girl nodded. 

“You are aware of the cost it took to have you become queen? To have your child be a trueborn one?” Lyanna chewed on her lower lip, eyes pooling with tears but she nodded fiercely. “I am not blind to your pains, girl. You lost a brother and a father, yes, but your brother perished because of his own foolery and your father trying to clean it up.” Elia analyzed the girl with sharp, brown eyes, so like the Prince Oberyn’s. _Oh, I know it hurts,_ she thought as she saw the other queen trying to smile through the tears and the fatigue. 

The Dornishwoman cleared her throat and continued, “This is the price you will have to pay for being part of this. For helping to set the events of catastrophe in motion. Your father and brother would still be here, were it not for _you._ Were it not for our _husband._ ” 

“Can we not do this here, Elia?” Rhaegar asked, sounding exhausted. _The burden of the crown never gets easier,_ “We must appear united, we cannot have a weeping queen as we continue our progress, can you cease making her do so?” 

“No,” Elia shook her head, “She _needs_ to hear this. She needs to know _why._ You cannot keep her coddled forever. You must needs reap what you sow, husband. That applies to even kings and queens.” 

“It is alright, Rhaegar,” Lyanna told their husband, breathing in sharply and nodding, closing her eyes for a brief second, “I must owe up to my sins. It is only right.” The cheers of the crowd waned, the closer they got to the gate because of the larger influx of guards. Therefore, it grew easier to hear and be heard. When she looked to Lyanna once more, there were tears like icy, cold crystals in her eyes, spilling onto her cheeks from wet eyelashes. Elia was immune to them. _It is time she becomes a woman, I’ve told her more than once but she remains a girl at heart._

“Do you have the notion that you were the only woman who would be forced to wed a man you knew not, a man you did not love? who would love his whores better than you?” Tearfully, Lyanna shook her head. “That child's fancy of yours, to have a beautiful, dutiful husband, was all our ruin. You say you are a woman, a queen, but none of those would steal away with a man wedded, a prince with children. If you would have had the _decency_ to look beyond his ethereal eyes, soft lips and done your duty, we would know naught of this.”

“I know,” Lyanna whispered, “I know.” Elia thought that Rhaegar had come to know it too. 

Elia paused for a breath, “Misunderstand me not, The fault lies not wholly with you, it will be a shared burden between both of you,” she looked to Rhaegar who looked as if his head ached. _He hears these words as well, even if he does not make a response. Doubt is a weed and it only grows._ “Yet you must needs learn the cost of your wild, unruly heart. Kill the girl within you, before she succeeds in killing us _all,_ this time for good. It hurts, I know. But you willed it so, yourself.” 

“I’m trying,” Lyanna replied desperately, “It is difficult, but I want things to be alright. I am trying to live up to all the demands and duties, to be a good mother and a good queen. I was not meant for this but you _were._ ” _Our husband did you no kindness when he placed that crown atop your head, but you accepted it nonetheless._

Elia waved off the reply, “Let them spit and chant obscenities, learn that no good came of that mummer's farce of my husband's. Carry yourself like a queen, and naught of it will touch you. A queen cannot have a bleeding heart, it must be stone. Closed doors are another thing but amongst people, it must be as rigid and unyielding as the stones making up the castle. Otherwise none will pay you any respect.”

“Yes,” the Northerner mumbled, “Yes,” she repeated and dried those tears that had stained her cheeks, composing her face into a mask of stone, staring forward with a determination, straightening her back as well. _Now, you are a queen._

She could spot Sunspear and its golden, domed towers. It filled her with such a joy that the tired smile on her face grew giddy and genuine, once more. _We are here, we are finally here!_ She’d not been in Dorne since before she was wed to Rhaegar. It was a bittersweet feeling to be there again. It reminded her of a lovely childhood, spent bathing in the water gardens and exploring, those times that she was not indisposed, that was. Yet it was also the place of most her woes. _Arthur. Rhaegar. Having to leave my family behind, not being there for my mother’s passing._

The rest of the ride remained silent but the Dornishwoman did not wish for words, she wished for her brothers, to meet their children, to feel loved and secure, as if she was not surrounded by vipers, for once. _Oberyn used to say that here, I walked amongst vipers yet none would bite me. There are different sorts of snakes in King’s Landing though, I fear._

Once the litter stopped, she did not bother waiting for Rhaegar or the other queen, but gracefully accepted Ser Arthur Dayne’s hand when he helped her down. His touch was gentle, the rough calluses stroking her skin and there was a shine to his violet eyes. _It wasn’t so long ago that he was here, however,_ she caught herself thinking. 

“We are home, Your Grace,” he smiled and looked so much like the boy she had once proclaimed her heart to. 

“ _I_ am home,” she replied and spotted her brothers and their children, wives and paramours in front of the entrance to the castle. 

Quickly, she looked back to see the litter carrying the children, not too far behind. 

“Shall we?” Rhaegar asked, something unknown lacing his words. Was he nervous, perchance? Frightened of the ire and scorn they would face, of course not openly, but barely-veiled. 

“Yes,” Elia smiled, looking into the distance with wistful eyes. She took hold of his free arm and together, they walked toward the entrance and it felt like a hundred leagues. 

“Oberyn!” she shouted and let go of Rhaegar’s arm, quickening her pace. The gown felt uncomfortable and clung to her skin in the fierce heat, but she would change into something more suitable, once she was back in her old rooms. His arms around her was the first thing she felt, then she heard his warm laugh and knew for true that she was home. 

“It has been too many moons, sister,” Oberyn murmured with a kiss to her cheek, then he let her go and kissed her forehead softly, “Dorne welcomes you with open arms, as always. They have been yearning for their gentle princess, returned a queen.” 

Elia smiled like a maiden who knew naught of pain and sorrow and grief, then she turned to her other brother, “Doran.” His hair had started greying, though he was not even forty years of age. The gout had aged and weathered him, yet he still smiled and somehow all felt as if it would be alright. The eyes were a brown flecked with gold, so wise and knowing, yet the cane he supported himself with made her frown and the reality of his disease set in. 

“My sweet Elia,” Prince Doran greeted, kissing her cheek and leaning down to bow, cringing in pain as he did so. 

“You mustn-” she began, but her brother shook his head solemnly and with a wavering voice replied, “-I must.” 

“Rise, Prince Doran,” she beckoned and he did so. Next to him was his Norvoshi wife, Mellario and though she was short of stature, Mellario still stood at two inches or so taller than the Dornishwoman. 

“It has been so long,” the tanned Norvoshi whispered, her brown hair tickling Elia’s cheeks. 

“Truly,” the Dornishwoman agreed, holding on tighter. 

“And who are these little beauties?” she asked no one in particular as she disembarked and crouched down to the young children, spotting one boy clinging to his mother’s arm in a sea of girls. She absentmindedly heard Oberyn mutter a greeting and Doran speak one to Rhaegar, but not Lyanna. _They must acknowledge him, but no one will say a word if they do not do the same to her._

“The oldest is Obara,” Oberyn said proudly, pointing to a girl with thin, brown hair and brown eyes. 

“She is tall for her age,” Elia mused, greeting the girl with a smile. 

“My Queen,” Obara Sand bowed solemnly. Kindly, Elia rose and kissed her cheek, whispering that the girl should not be so severe, stating that she’ll look worthy of songs, all she must do is smile. The statement actually garnered a smile from the twelve year old. 

“And this must be little lady Nym?” she asked a pretty, tall girl with pale skin and eyes of both brown and green. 

“Papa says that you are my aunt,” the girl stated, matter-of- factly. 

“That, I am,” Elia replied. 

“Does that make the king my good-uncle?” Nymeria asked and Elia turned to Rhaegar who was analyzing the interaction. 

“I should say it does,” the Dornish queen smirked, “Which means he will have to commission you a nameday gift, so please do not spare any expense,” she finished in a whisper, causing the nine year old, Volantene girl to giggle and Rhaegar to shrug and nod. 

“But does that make her my good-aunt?” the child asked in a whisper, looking at Lyanna and seeming to pale. _Children will be children,_ the Dornishwoman sighed. If the aghast comment had hurt the Queen Lyanna, she made no mention of it. In fact, the Northerner smiled as if she’d heard none at all. 

“I,” Elia faltered, looking at Oberyn for help. 

“Now, now, Nym. Your aunt must greet the rest of your siblings and cousins as well, we must not stall.” 

Dutifully, Elia looked to two other children, the remaining ones. One as pale and golden as sunlight, the other an apparent contrast, with curly, brown hair and light-brown skin. Both were pretty for their age and should surely grow into beautiful women, once they flowered. 

“Do not tell me,” the Dornish queen said with a smile and pointed to the blonde child with blue eyes, no more than seven years of age. “You must be Tyene,” Then she pointed to the curly-haired child, “And you are Sarella. Am I correct?” 

“Yes,” Tyene giggled and Elia reached out to embrace the child, kissing the pale hairs that glittered golden in the sunlight. _Not Lannister gold, but one of her own._ It made her think of Jaime, but she willed those thoughts away, for it made her heart ache. Tyene was seven, but from what the Dornishwoman knew, Sarella was only three and seemed a shy girl, hiding behind her father’s legs. 

“Aren’t you a beauty?” Elia asked the curly-haired girl with a smile as warm as the sun, after she had murmured a final compliment to Tyene. 

“Go on,” Prince Oberyn beckoned his daughter, “Go to your aunt, sweetling. She has travelled long to meet us.” Rhaegar was conversing with a few of the older children but they seemed disquieted to him, from what Elia could hear, only giving abrupt replies. They did not speak a word to Lyanna. Their actions did not please the Dornish queen in the way she had thought it would, for Dorne to give all their ire and scorn to Rhaegar and Lyanna. _The Gods know that they deserve it,_ but she could not help but feel slightly bad, nonetheless. Mayhaps more so for Lyanna than she did Rhaegar. 

Finally, the girl shyly moved to Elia and made a clumsy curtsy that caused the Dornish queen to laugh good-naturedly and pick the child up into her arms. For a split second, she thought of when Rhaenys had been younger, and how much she loved Aegon’s soft giggles and clumsy steps-- and how it strangely tore at her heart, that she would never have that again. _Not a girl with hair of silver or gold, no boy with indigo, green or violet eyes._ Oh, how melancholy it can make someone, when their own body has abandoned and betrayed them. 

“Sarella is quite clever,” she heard Oberyn say, “Were the citadel to accept women, I have no doubt that as curious and willing to learn as she is, that would have been the first place she’d travel.” That’s when she saw Lyro and Ellaria and her heart clenched in that lovely way. They’d written and exchanged words, but seeing someone and reading their words are not quite the same. 

“Did you not travel to the citadel and began forming a maester’s chain?” Elia asked smartly, making Ellaria laugh and Lyro raise an eyebrow. 

“I grew bored,” The Dornishman shrugged. 

“Lyro, Ellaria,” she smiled and thought her face would fall apart, for she had done so much of it that day. More than she had in years, “Forgive me for not greeting you sooner,” she said, flustered. Sarella was complacent in her embrace, _such a sweet and gentle child. Rhaenys will love her cousins._

“It is alright, My Queen,” Lyro said and the Dornishwoman did not know how much she’d missed that intricate, fine blend of a musical, Lysene tilt and the drawl of a Dornishman, until she stood right there.

“You’ve the right to engage with your own family first,” Ellaria smiled, green eyes vivid in the light of the Dornish sun. 

“You are my family too,” Elia replied, walking up to give both Ellaria and Lyro a kiss on each their cheeks. That made the Lyseni garner that soft look in his eyes, with a tender smile to match it. However, as Elia gazed at her brother’s first paramour, she gasped. 

“Are you alright?” she heard Rhaegar’s voice inquire, earning a cold look from Oberyn and a grumble of _‘now he cares.’_

“Yes, yes,” she waved her husband off, absentmindedly stroking Sarella’s back, sensing that the child was tired and needed to be put to a nap soon. 

“You are with child?” she asked the bastard of Hellholt, who smiled prettily and nodded, cradling the small bump on her belly. _Never again shall I experience that._ The thought was quite saddening, for Elia’s pregnancies had always gone well in the beginning. It was toward the end that they drained and tried to claim her life. _Who is the father, I wonder. Lyro or Oberyn?_

“We do not know,” Ellaria answered the Dornish queen’s unspoken question. 

“We do _not_ care,” Oberyn finished, putting his arms around both paramours. Or to the world: One exceptionally close male friend and a female paramour. 

“Good,” Elia smiled, “Neither do I. It is my niece or nephew regardless.” She made the point to look directly into Lyro’s pale, Valyrian eyes as she said that. He nodded and the thought struck the queen that he was such a shy man at heart, not truly aware of his qualities or beauty. _This world broke him as a boy, it tore him apart and I hope that my brother and Ellaria can help mend the pieces. It is hard, not knowing who you are. He and I have that in common. Tragedy, unfair treatment and sorrow. They are easier burdens to bear when shared._

When she turned around, she saw that Tyene had made the acquaintance of Lyanna, asking questions of the North and if there truly were giant ice-spiders and living dead. The Northerner had laughed and said that no, there was not and had not been since the long night, but that she had been told the same tales by her Old Nan. Rhaegar was quietly conversing with Doran, but there was one girl whom she had not greeted yet, along with a boy. The future ruling Princess of Dorne and her brother. 

Walking toward Mellario, where the young girl stood conversing with her mother, a shock of curly, brown hair, quite small and still retaining a childhood pudginess that Elia was never able to boast, as she had always been delicate, small and frail. 

“My Princess,” Elia greeted the seven-year old. _She is almost of an age with Viserys, perhaps he will grow fond of her._

“My Queen Elia,” Arianne bowed but Elia beckoned her to rise with a chuckle. 

Before they could finish their conversation, Ser Arthur Dayne walked up to Elia. 

“My Queen, I was told to inform you that the princess felt a stomach ache and that she was sent to her rooms directly, alongside the Prince Viserys who refused to leave her side. The youngest princes were also sent to their nursery as they were already sleeping.” 

“Is it serious?” Elia frowned, thinking of all the worst possibilities. 

“Most like it is nerves,” the knight smiled, still looking at her with that soft, violet gaze, “The princess is young but this is all new for her. She hadn’t the luxury of many companions before, it can be overwhelming.” 

“Yes, I know,” The Dornish queen nodded, “I will visit immediately when we enter. It is good that Viserys joined her.” 

“The prince is very fond of his niece and seemed too severe for his years when she begun complaining.” 

“He is a lovely boy who will grow into a kind and good man, shall King’s Landing permit it, which they must or have to contend with my ire, should they not.” 

“Dorne becomes you, My Queen,” Arthur smiled but seemed unnerved by Doran and Oberyn’s frosty gazes. _You have every right to be. My brothers are not the forgiving kind._

“Everyone’s home becomes them,” she murmured, kissing the top of Sarella’s sleepy head.

Quickly, she handed Sarella back to Oberyn, made quick conversation with Arianne and greeted Quentyn. Then, she told Doran’s children and their cousins that Princess Rhaenys and Prince Viserys would join them for supper, later in the eve. Arianne’s pouty statement of how she had wished to see the young princelings made all the adults laugh, be they dragon, sun, wolf, star or even a lion. 

She made it to the older children’s chambers relatively quickly and they were only a few doors down from her own. _My old chambers, the ones I grew up in. What a bittersweet welcoming that will be._ So much had occurred there, _growing pains, love, heartbreak and sorrow. Sickness, fatigue, indispositions. Secrets kept, some that were spilled. All within those painted walls and frayed edges._

Elia spotted Rhaenys as soon as she entered, being tended to by her uncle. 

“Are you better now?” she heard Viserys ask as he stroked the girl’s cheek. Then, he turned and spotted his good-sister in the doorway to the sitting room. 

“She had a stomach ache,” the prince explained, turning lilac eyes upon his queen. 

“So I heard,” Elia replied, taking even steps toward them, crouching down to gaze at her daughter, from the armchair that she sat in. 

“Does it still hurt, sweetling?” Frowning, Princess Rhaenys nodded and looked down, dark lashes covering lavender eyes and spilling across the top of her cheeks. 

“Should we call on the maester?” Viserys asked worriedly and Elia placed a calming hand on his shoulder. _She seems withdrawn, perhaps it truly only was a burst of nerves. She is not weeping nor thrashing._

“Not quite yet, my sweet.” 

“Are you nervous to meet your cousins, Rhaenys? Your uncles?” The Dornishwoman asked with the gentle, patient voice of a mother. Shyly, the child nodded and Elia saw those Valyrian eyes fill with tears and it moved her heart so greatly that there was naught else for the queen to do, but take the child into her comforting embrace and whisper soothing words. 

“Viserys will be right next to you. These are your kinsmen, not strangers, my love. They have yearned to meet you and soon enough, you will all be bonded.” 

“Do you promise, mama?” the girl asked, burying her head into her mother’s curls of the same color as her own. 

“Of course. They will be delighted to meet their cousin, as well as the future queen.” 

“I do not want to be their _queen_ ,” the four-year-old whispered and the Dornishwoman felt her heart tug. _Of course you do not want to be, you are only a girl. Yet there comes a time when you will have to be. When there is no easy road. Oh, how I wish to spare you that pain, my love._ “I want to be their companion, like Laena is to me,” Princess Rhaenys explained. 

“You will be,” Elia promised her daughter, “Dorne is different to King’s Landing in that regard.” 

“Can Viserys sit next to me?” 

“Yes, of course, my dove.” Queen Elia looked to her good-brother for confirmation, earning a solemn nod. 

“Now perhaps you should take a nap before supper, you must all be weary from the travels.” Nodding, Prince Viserys followed his queen and niece into the bedchamber where two beds were placed next to each other. She tucked her daughter in first and was about to tell the prince to sleep well, when the princess spoke. 

“Can Vissy sleep next to me, mama?” The Dornishwoman looked to her good-brother who seemed to wait for her instructions.

“Oh, alright,” she relented, beckoning the prince to come forward, gently laying next to his niece and kissing the top of her head. 

“We mustn’t let this become a habit, thought,” she smiled at the children, “You will only be sharing chambers for a few more years.” 

“Mm,” the princess smiled, closing her eyes. 

“I expect smiling faces at supper. Sleep well, my doves.” Both children nodded and Elia left, informing the servants to wake and dress the children in good time. 

After that, she entered her own chambers and dismissed her servants, stating that she was capable on her own from thereon and would call if anything was needed. Upon entering and being faced with the sitting room, still donning the same decor it did as before she left, a wave of melancholy hit her. The curtains were still that sandy silk, swaying gently from the breeze. Beyond them laid the marble balcony, overlooking Sunspear and its shadow city. 

She looked to the wallpapering, still the same shade of soft orange and lilac with gold detailings, intricate patterns of flowers and other matters. The armchairs were still immaculately placed in front of the fireplace that was only ever for show and not use, for Dorne was already hot enough without a fire to warm it. _However, there were those times that I was ill and shivered like a man who’d only just survived drowning in the coldest sea._ With one last gaze at the wooden table with the carvings of suns and sphinxes, she entered her old bedchamber. _Well, my current._

 _They’ve changed the sheets,_ Elia noticed. _Why would they not have, it was years since my presence roamed these halls. My mother was still alive then, Doran was not so ill. Arianne was but a toddler, younger than mine own daughter._ Her sheets were now red and orange, of a silky material that caressed her fingers as she touched it. _They were blue, once upon a better time._ It had been her favorite color before, yet now the cold, royal shade of said color filled her with melancholy. Of betrayal. 

Her woolen gown still clung uncomfortably to her clammy skin, so she decided to open the wardrobe opposite the large bed and saw that it was filled with her old gowns, alongside new ones she had never seen before. _Pretty colors,_ they were, all shades of pink, green, blue, orange, purple and red. 

A tiredness enveloped her, but perhaps it was only the cover for the ache that it all made her feel. _Not a bodily one, but a mindly one._ It was that incessant feeling where you look upon the memories of youth, they’re so close to touch but are forever evading your grasp, reminding you that you cannot ever go back, however strong the desire is to do so. _I miss it, the freedom, the people whose intentions I need not doubt._ Queen Elia realised that she missed being a girl, yet that would not change the fact that she was now a woman. 

With a sigh, she untied the back of her gown and relished once the heavy material was apart from her, laying in a heap on the floor. She chose a pink slip that looked familiar, as if she had donned it before. It was only when she sat down on her bed, lazing around on the silky sheets and gazing out of the window, that she recalled _when._

_“My love will always remain yours, you must only be willing to accept it,” Arthur said as he braided her hair, deft fingers working through her soft waves. He always offered to do so, stating that he’d done both his sisters’ hair and found it to be a relief. Yet he was also adamant in telling her that she mustn’t make anyone aware of those skills, as Oberyn would surely tease him to no end and have the other ones join in._

_“I feel as if I’ve sufficiently accepted it today,” she replied, turning around with a blinding smile, earning a hiss as the Dayne lost the braid he was working on. There was a faint trace of pink on his cheeks, giving him a flushed appearance. He was still so shy, even after all their encounters and it endeared her to no end. The blush made him unworldly beautiful, yet it also made him seem more man than god, which thusly made her feel as if she actually belonged next to him._

_"You know that is not what I mean,” her Arthur mumbled, leaning forward and hiding his face in the crook of her neck, wrapping strong arms around her frail body. Sometimes she wondered why he wanted her, for she was but skin and bones-- hard contours with naught of that womanly softness. No wide hips or generous bosom and none would ever sing songs of her beauty, the way they would Ashara’s. Those thoughts always succeeded in making her melancholy._

_"I know,” she kissed his silver-gold hair and rejoiced in his presence there. Slowly but surely, the knight withdrew and met her plain, brown eyes with ethereal violet ones of his own. The princess wondered what it would be like to have been blessed with such beauty and grace and strength. To have been tall like Ashara, to be gifted with robustness and a lust for life that could not be quenched by some minor chill or fever. However, it did no one any good to dwell on such matters that would never come to be. All it does is make you hurt something the fiercer._

_"I love you,” he said and it was no lie, she knew. The men who lied were the ones who courted and made remarks of what a lovely woman she was, beautiful as the Maiden herself and kind as the Mother. She was Elia Martell. Gentle but frail. Kind but sad, clever but not in the way men wished a woman to be. With flat hips that barely boasted being able to bear heirs. She was Princess Elia Martell and even though she was a naive, young girl, she had never fooled herself or claimed to be something she was not. Being aware of one's strength and flaws was pivotal, or the world would crush them until they were naught but a shell of broken dreams. If one daren’t dream that they could fly, then it will not hurt them as much, when they inevitably fall._

_“And I love you,” Elia mumbled, looking down but Arthur took hold of her chin and leaned closer, placing such soft kisses on the side of her jaw that she wondered if his lips even touched her skin in the first place._

_“And I wish to wed you,” he continued, kissing down her neck, making her giggle._

_“As I do you.” She felt him smile against her skin, approving._

_“And I wish for you to be the mother of my children, to watch you grow great with our child,” he finished with lips at her shoulder, one hand resting on her thigh and the other reaching upward, underneath her pink slip with lace at the edges. Finally settling on her stomach that remained flat. The princess was young, not foolish. Moon tea was a necessity after each of their couplings. Elia did not wish to shame her mother by birthing a bastard and she was ever the dutiful daughter, even though bastards were not so great a shame in Dorne-- They were for the daughters of noble houses._

_“To grow old with you,” he murmured, turning her around and gently laying her down on the bed, dark hair spilling onto the blue covers like a dark halo._

_“I wish you could see yourself right now,” her knight mused and she could not fathom why, it’s not like it would have been a sight for sore eyes._

_“Why?” she smiled curiously._

_“Because you look as fair as summer, with sunlight in your hair,” he replied, smiling with a dimpled cheek. She weakly pushed his chest away and shook her head._

_“Lickspittle,” the princess giggled, making the Dayne groan and lay down on top of her, resting his head in the crook of her shoulder._

_“I was trying to be poetic and romantic,” he whined, making her giggle harder, trying to calm herself so that she would not cause suspicion to arise. Because frankly, they were in quite a compromising position and not very decent._

_“Don’t,” she turned to kiss the top of his head, “I like your clumsy words more than I do the honeyed ones.”_

The memory made the Dornish queen sad. The past has a tendency of doing that to people, rooting up their most precious memories that they thought were lost. Until that one touch, that one piece of garment reminds you of it. The past is also quite adept at reminding the person that it will never get those moments back. That they are lost and doomed forever, never to return but in fragments that make their home inside the mind. 

The Dornish queen then decided that she would do what most did, when the melancholy was strong. She decided to sleep, for it would surely wash the sad memories of another life away. 

_I am home, in Dorne. I will be happy here._

***

A knock on the door woke the Dornish queen, who was ever the light sleeper. With bleary eyes and a tired sigh, she moved to don a robe of blue silk that was conveniently the first thing she saw, as to remain somewhat modest. _It is required of a queen,_ she thought wryly. _Never the king, though._

The earlier melancholy had washed away and she felt in merrier spirits, as if that bout of sadness was needed to continue the journey. That the brief mourning for the past somehow laid the ghosts to rest, or she wished it had. Elia padded across the wooden floors and opened them, coming face to face with the ghost she’d buried time upon time, yet it did not quite want to stay dead. Perhaps she was reanimating it and that did no kindness to anyone. 

“Ser Arthur,” she greeted but his eyes were not on her face, they were on the pink slip that had seen so many events unfold in its time as a garment. “Ser Arthur,” she said again and he snapped out of whatever daze that’d previously claimed him, turning violet eyes upon hers. They seemed to be coated in recognition. _He must surely remember too, then._

“Supper will begin in an hour or so. I was sent to escort you.” _Of course you were._

“I shall dress, then.” 

“Shall I have the maids sent in to help you?” the knight asked.

“No, this is Dorne, ser. Which means no more dreadful corsets and laces for quite some time, so I will be quite alright on my own… but,” she faltered and did not know what caused the next words to spill out of her mouth. Was it that she wished to feel like her old self? A yearning to connect Queen Elia to the Princess Elia of Dorne? 

“But?” the knight asked patiently. 

“Would you be free to braid my hair? No one ever did it quite like you, not even Ashara could replicate it.” _I wonder if Jaime knows how to braid hair, if he used to do it for his sister._

“I should be honored to,” Arthur bowed his head, a soft expression touching his features. 

“Good,” she clasped her hands together, “I shall call you when I am ready.” 

She regretted it as soon as she closed the door. _Stupid, stupid,_ she grumbled to herself as she shifted around the clothes in the closet. _I could have just asked Lyro or Ellaria, why must I unnecessarily complicate matters?_ Well, what was done was done and surely no great harm could come from it? Simply two friends from old, bonded through the past, not the future. _Lyro and Ellaria are surely busy on their own, at least the kingsguard are bound to serve._

Then there came the struggle of what to don. Finally, she spotted a vivid dress of sea-green, not quite emerald but not far from it. The gown was relatively shapeless, instead molding to the contour of the person who inhabits it. Quickly, the Dornishwoman threw off her robe and slip, donning the long gown and turning to look in the mirror. 

It was perhaps slightly too loose, but it offered her a free range of movement, leaving her arms bare, hanging onto her body via two straps on her shoulders. The cleavage was decent enough, leaving a triangular cut. For once, Elia felt grateful for the changes that motherhood had caused her body. _It would look too boxy, were I to have had no bosom or hips to speak of._ Yet now she did and felt as if she did the gown justice. Something was missing, though… it felt a bit too incomplete. 

_Ah yes,_ she thought, moving to see what old jewels of hers laid in the drawers of the vanity. As she opened it, the door to her youth unlocked and she felt her eyes grow slightly misty. _There is the sapphire necklace that mother commissioned me for my eight nameday, there’s the blood-red ruby bracelet Doran brought back from Norvos._ There were even the water-drop earrings of emerald that Oberyn had gifted the Dornishwoman from when they’d been in Oldtown. 

In the end, she settled on the emerald earrings and and a simple necklace, also made of emeralds. The final touch was the ruby bracelet, it dramatized the look quite a bit, gave it a bit of flair. Elia checked her reflection to make sure nothing looked too hideous. Pleased with the outcome, she called for Ser Arthur to enter. 

Elia quickly beckoned him into her bedchamber, seating herself by the vanity and watching him through the reflection of the mirror. 

“I do not envy you, Ser Arthur,” she said, trying to will the strained silence away. _We were never this quiet with each other before, it was never this… distant. But we are grown now and too much has passed, no wonder none of us are the same._

“Why?” he asked and she could see the corner of his lips tilt up as he met her eyes through the mirror. 

“Having to wear all that plate and armor in this heat? I would have succumbed within the first five minutes.” 

“Good thing you are not in the Kingsguard then, My Queen,” he snorted, “And I should say I fare better than the others, for I am a Dornishman.” _You were._ “I do pity Ser Jaime and the White Bull, they look eerily faint on the occasion.” _Oh, no,_ Elia thought, _it truly must be hard, especially for Jaime._ The Dornishwoman and her close companion barely spoke, Storm’s End had shattered something betwixt them and she knew not what. 

“We’ve not even been here for a day.” Arthur shrugged through the mirror.

“Some men were not made for the heat.” After a few moments of silence, he asked what sort of braid she would like. 

“Surprise me,” she murmured. Dutifully, the knight nodded and began collecting strands of her hair into his hands, running his fingers through the waves. 

“There’s a brush on the vanity,” Elia informed, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. A few moments later, she felt the soft strokes of a brush run through her hair. 

“Are you sure you haven’t lost your touch?” she teased, smiling with her eyes closed, earning a scoff from the knight. 

“For your information, I have braided…” he faltered, “Ah yes, Ser Jaime’s hair on the occasion, for our little gatherings in the white tower,” Arthur finished defiantly. 

“Tsk Tsk, lying is a sin, Arthur, ask the high-septon.” For a second she forgot herself. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t been able to converse like that with someone for quite some time, as Ser Jaime acted out whatever inner fit he was throwing and Rhaegar… he appreciated her wits and sly comments but… it was just not the same. 

“Alright, mayhaps you caught me. Will m’lady wash my mouth out with soap now?” It seemed like Ser Arthur was enjoying himself too, grasping whatever piece he could attain of his lost love. Perhaps it was also that Dorne was treating him with the same hostility they treated the king and other queen. After all, he’d played his part and would have to suffer the consequences. Elia simply gave him a few moments of relief. 

“Maybe I’ll give you a clout in the ear instead.” That caused Ser Dayne to chuckle, a throaty warm sound that she’d somewhat missed. _Life is better when people are happy._

He continued braiding for a few moments in silence, Elia marvelling in the comfort it made her feel. To just close her eyes and allow someone else to hold the reins, _even if only for a few moments._

“That feels good,” she murmured. 

“It looks quite good as well, if I may be so bold.” She did not need to see the smirk upon his lips to know that it was there. 

“Arrogance is vice, my dear knight.” 

“I shall have to keep it in check, then,” he said and she hummed in agreement. 

“All done,” he said after a few moments and she opened her eyes, rising to take hold of the small hand-mirror on the vanity, turning around and gazing at the work. _It is beautiful,_ she confessed, three braids on each side, adjoining into one in the middle of her head, leaving an empty space and then adjoining again two more times, down the length of her hair. 

“The last touch,” she heard the knight say and then he was in front of her. With his pretty violet eyes that belonged to her past and placed the crown atop her head. 

“You look radiant,” Arthur said after a few moments, “A goddess of the sun.” _I wonder what Jaime would have thought. He would surely have likened me to an apple or something of the sort, simply to make me laugh or be smart._

“Lickspittle,” she scoffed and then recalled what she’d done. It was there, in his eyes, in the silence that enveloped the room. 

“Only for you,” he replied quietly and she shook her head. _Not anymore._

“It is time for us to head down, wouldn’t you say?” Elia asked, earning a nod. Gently, she took hold of his arm and they headed down to sup. 

***

“She’s so pretty,” seven-year old Arianne gushed over her niece, touching the soft brown curls and marvelling over the lavender eyes, being seated next to the young princess. Rhaenys looked delighted that her cousin had taken to her, but slightly overwhelmed by the attention. 

“Gentle now, Arianne, or you’ll frighten the poor child,” Mellario chided her daughter and Elia gave the Norvoshi a grateful smile. 

“Has she learned how to fight yet?” Obara asked, reminding Elia more of a battle commander than a girl of twelve, on the cusp of turning thirteen, “I would be honored to teach her,” the child-woman continued. Elia cleared her throat and had to bite back a laugh, for she was quite sure that she heard Rhaegar choke on his wine. 

“Princess Rhaenys prefers drawing and reading, I fear,” Rhaegar finally said, earning a frown from the bastard. 

“That does not mean that she cannot learn how to fight, too,” Obara began, “And you should let your daughter speak for herself, My King.” The king looked shocked at first, before turning to Elia but she did not know what to say either. The Dornishwoman found the situation humorous and feared that she would laugh, were she to open her mouth. 

“Obara,” Doran’s voice, “You forget yourself sometimes, it is a king you are speaking to. Do well to remember.” Elia bit her lip, looking to Oberyn for she noted how her brother did not say _‘our’_ king. The Red Viper met her gaze and shrugged.

Then, her oldest brother turned to Rhaegar. “Forgive me, King Rhaegar, she is a child and far too bull-headed for her own good. I surely do wonder _whom_ she gets it from.” Rhaegar smiled and chuckled, earning a deadly gaze from Oberyn. 

“There was no offence taken, My Prince. I admire her spirit.” 

“Do you?” she heard Oberyn grumble under his breath, pursing his lips. 

The youngest of Oberyn’s children, Sarella was not present for the supper, neither were Prince Quentyn, Aemon and Aegon but Elia had promised the cousins who wished it, that she would take them to the nursery and show them the future of the realm later on. Arianne then turned her attention upon Prince Viserys, who remained courteous and kind but it was plain for Elia to notice that the Princess of Dorne was overwhelming him with all the questions. Even Doran noticed. 

“Arianne,” Elia’s brother told his daughter, “Let the prince eat, he has come a long way and they will stay for a moon’s turn. There is plenty of time to inquire about,” the Dornish prince faltered, waving his hands around as a gesture, “Everything beneath the sun that you are asking him of.” Gratefully, Elia sent her oldest brother a smile and then gave Viserys a reassuring one, for his face fell. _He most like thinks he may have offended Arianne by not acting interested enough._

“Oh, I would not try those,” the Dornishwoman heard Oberyn tell Lyanna as she was about to bite into a spiced pepper. _No,_ Elia cringed, _I would not._

“Why not, My Prince?” the Northerner asked, perplexed. Elia shook her head because she knew her brother well and he enjoyed playing with his prey before putting it out of its misery. 

“They are very spicy,” he smirked. _They are._

“I can handle spice,” Lyanna said, her voice edging onto something defiant. 

“Oh no, you misunderstand me, My Queen,” Oberyn’s tone was slightly mocking, “We do not use the word ‘spice’ the same way in Dorne as you do in the South, where your food is quite bland. The North fares no better when it comes to taste,” he shrugged and Elia choked on her wine, Rhaenys patting her back and asking if she was alright. Elia nodded and smiled at her daughter before perking up her ears to observe the interaction, once more. Even Rhaegar looked wary now, his eyes finding Elia’s and pleading for her to control that wayward brother of hers. 

“So when I say they are spicy,” the Red Viper leered, “I mean that they are _spicy._ But consume at your own risk,” he shrugged.” Knowing Oberyn was a master of poisons, his statement most like did not give Queen Lyanna a great deal of comfort. In the end, the Northerner gave way and did not dine on the spiced peppers. The king on the other hand seemed to enjoy his food, giving no complaints or extra pleas for water, nor did young Viserys but granted, he did not pick out the very spicy options. 

Rhaenys very much enjoyed the fruit that was served on platters afterward, alongside the iced milk. The princess eagerly took to Tyene’s company, the septa's daughter who was seated in front of her, even more so than she had Arianne’s. _Yet I think the two come as a pair and they are good children, they will do Rhaenys good in the lack of Laena’s company. I only hope that Viserys does not feel too left out. Perhaps he can take up training with Oberyn once more and mayhaps spend a day or two with Doran. It would give him a change of scenery, at least._

“Lyro,” Elia called to the Lyseni who sat opposite her, “Have you any new poems to recite for me?” she smiled, pale blue eyes meeting hers. 

“You need only ask and I shall deliver, My Queen.” The Lyseni seemed… different. Not in a bad way, just… different from when I last saw him. Perhaps it was the impending babe, _the one that may be his._

“I will send for you and allow you to put Oberyn to shame,” the Dornishwoman began, leaning forward, “He was always mediocre at poems, but do not tell him I said that,” she whispered wickedly, knowing her brother fully well heard that. 

“I can hear you,” the Dornishman drawled, “And you are being rude, sister. I do not recall you had any great talent in that area, either.” 

“I never claimed to,” she stuck her tongue out at him, earning an incredulous gasp from the most dramatic out of her siblings. 

“How very... unqeenly of you,” Oberyn sputtered, then Ellaria began speaking to him about something and Elia leaned back, simply admiring the scene of the supper. It was not ideal, no but she was home and felt in better spirits than she had for a very long time. 

“I like you happy,” she heard a voice close to her ear whisper. The Dornishwoman turned to her husband and shrugged. 

“I am. Does it show so well?” Rhaegar’s indigo eyes sparkled in the lighting of the room. 

“Only for those who are able to tell the difference. You are more relaxed, it shows, Elia. It is everywhere, one needs only look.” For such a daft and oblivious man, King Rhaegar truly knew how to look and see, when he bothered to do it. _He does have the skilled tongue of a poet, so I suppose it helps him along the way._

***

“My Queen, Prince Oberyn requests entrance,” she heard the White Bull’s voice outside her chambers. Elia donned a robe and moved closer to the door, shouting out that it was granted. Once her brother was inside, he plopped down on the armchair and seemed affronted. 

“Did anyone spit in your wine, brother?” she giggled, moving to sit opposite him. 

“Why must I _‘request’_ an entrance to see my own sister, in my own home!” he asked snidely, dark brows creasing into a frown. 

“Well, for one it is Doran’s home, you’re just infesting it with your presence,” her brother opened his mouth to speak but she chuckled and shushed him. “Second of all, I am the queen. I cannot simply have attendees walking into my own personal chambers at their own behest. It would be improper, I may not have been decent to the South’s standards.” 

“This is not the South, thank the Gods for that,” Oberyn grumbled, “And I am your brother, not some mere attendee.” 

“You are, but I suppose it makes no difference to them.” 

“Hmph,” the Red Viper exclaimed, not truly wroth. _Oberyn always loves making a fuss over nothing. The dramatics come as easy to him as breathing._ She was grateful for it, _he would not be my Oberyn if he did not have it._ Then, Elia offered him some wine, pouring a goblet for herself.

“You seem closer with the Dragon-king than you were when we visited King’s Landing.” Elia took a deep sip of the wine and swallowed before replying with a shrug. 

“He has his moments.” 

“Do enlighten me on what those may be,” her brother rose an eyebrow, as if the thought of Rhaegar being anything other than a traitorous arse, was impossible to fathom. 

“Moments where he shuts up and looks pretty,” she mumbled and drank again.

“Well…” her brother mulled, mirroring her sip of the wine, “He does have impressive features for a man whose parents were siblings.” 

“Dragonblood,” Elia offered, not literally. 

“And illusions of grandeur,” her brother chimed in, making the Dornishwoman chuckle. 

“That too.” 

“But let us talk of you,” she exclaimed, suddenly excited, “Ellaria is with child!” 

“Yes, if you hadn’t noticed from the bump on her belly, or did you think she simply grew large?” 

“Don’t be smart with me, I am still your elder,” Elia warned, a teasing glint in her eyes. 

“Alright,” Oberyn gave up, “I know when to pick my battles.” 

“But yes, she is,” he continued fondly, “A fifth addition to our somewhat unconventional little family.” 

“And you do not care if it is Lyro’s?” she inquired. _Most men would have. It is not as if I would have been able to tell Rhaegar I was with child and it would be Arthur’s or Jaime's._ Her husband was unusually calm for a Targaryen but the fire still ran hot in his blood. _Most men do not like to share, but my brother is not most men._

“Why should I?” Oberyn asked, “I love him, as I do Ellaria. We love all the children the same. The world may not accept that but I do not need it to. It is the privilege of being a Prince of a kingdom such as Dorne. All that matters to me is my family and what they think.” 

“I have no quarrels with it, if that is what you are insinuating,” she replied, slightly prickly. _I’ve not given him the reason to think I mind. I care for Lyro as I do Ellaria._

“No,” Oberyn shook his head, “That is not what I meant, sister. I know you grew close with Lyro in the time we spent at King’s Landing.” 

“Do you think it’ll be a girl or a boy?” 

“I’ve no idea,” her brother said and leaned back with a soft smile, “But I have a tendency to make girls. Perhaps a little brother to dote upon will be what they need.” 

“I wish I could have been here to meet it,” she smiled sadly, which caused Oberyn to lean forward and take hold of her hands. 

“This is not the last time you visit Dorne, sweet sister. As the previous time was not the last time we will visit King’s Landing. You will meet it.” 

“Yes,” she nodded, “You are right.” 

***

After her brother left, Elia spent some time on her marble balcony. It was still hot, but with the night came a breeze that felt soothing upon her skin. Sunspear after dark was a beautiful sight, so peaceful, illuminated by the stars that were high in the sky. 

Her thoughts drifted to Jaime, whom she had not seen for the entire day. _I must force him to tell me what went wrong, but I do not want to come begging like a stray cat. He cannot indulge and then discard me without reason, I am a person, not an object._

For now, she would rest in her childhood bed, surrounded by the fact that she was truly home. _Not with uncle Lewyn, oh how he would have loved to be back. I must visit his widow and make sure that his children are prospering._

Even though Elia was relatively sure that Doran had already seen to that matter. _My oldest brother has a large heart, even though many cannot see it. They mistake his passiveness for weakness and it is their biggest mistake. Doran’s patience is his biggest strength._

Much more was to come for the Dornish queen but she knew naught of it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'll write something here when I wake up and can think properly


	16. We are equal parts lost and found.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love you,” Jaime murmured, “And it is so hard.” It was. It truly was hard to love a queen, wed to a king. Just as it would be hard to love a knight sworn to duty. Her heart clenched and maybe she loved him too.  
> “Jaime,” she whispered and met his eyes, leaning into kiss him as if all the air had been stolen from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings again, my loyal grasshoppers. 
> 
> This chapter is an entire smörgåsbord of things so buckle up.  
> Alas, this will be the only update for quite some time (maybe that's why it's so long), because I am swamped with tests and shit at school and should probably focus on that so that I don't fail my math and geography tests lmao. I'd say expect an update late november/early december. But life has also taught you to expect the unexpected so maybe it'll be before that, we can hope :). 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter and it is not edited (as y'all may be aware of me stating at this point) and I did finish it at like 01:00 last night (this morning technically) so i'm very sorry if there's like grammatical errors and stuff.
> 
> Buttttttt do not forget to leave a kudos if you enjoyed the story  
> and pleaseeee drop a comment down below. Idk they're like my only shot of serotonin and and dopamine this far into the fall term. 
> 
> Until next time, 
> 
> <3

  
  


She dreamt that she was a girl again, in the meadows of Starfall. 

* * *

“I picked this one out for you,” a boy with silver-gold hair told Elia, shyness clouding his features. 

“Thank you,” she smiled at the older boy, accepting the red rose and bringing it up to her face. It smelled sweet, like summer and love and happiness. Suddenly, the boy sat down next to her and there was a short silence. It was not strained or anything of the sort, they simply marvelled in the beautiful day, next to each other. 

The green grass surrounding them was strewn with beautiful wildflowers. It reminded her of the songs that spoke about the doomed love between Jenny of Oldstones and her Targaryen prince, Duncan. They said that Jenny wove flowers in her hair. But Elia was a small and frail girl, who at the tender age of eleven still knew that she was no Jenny. No man would give up Seven Kingdoms in return for her love. 

“Oberyn’s off showing Ashara some seashells by the shores. My sister wishes to make a necklace of them,” Arthur shared, smiling slightly as he squinted at the sun, violet eyes growing even more ethereal in the light of it. 

“It will suit her. She loves the sea, it is only right that she makes it a part of her.” 

When Elia looked at Arthur Dayne, he reminded her of a Targaryen, even though he was not. The boy boasted the silver-gold hair and purple eyes, alongside the famed beauty. It seemed almost a rich joke that he was the second son of a vassal house. However, Elia of all knew that the Gods had a wicked sense of humor. After all, they’d made her a princess of Dorne, yet weak and frail and feeble and not at all like what a true princess should be.

“Do you want to play a game?” she asked, feeling butterflies in her stomach each time she looked upon Ashara’s comely, older brother. 

“There is naught else to do,” he replied with a boyish smile, “What do you suggest?” For some reason, the princess began feeling shy, her cheeks heating up. It all seemed a stupid idea now. Arthur was two-and-ten, why would he wish to engage in such child’s play? 

“What is it?” he frowned, “Did I cause offence?” 

“No, no you did not,” she murmured, looking down, “It’s just that… it’s stupid now that I think of it.” 

“Why would it be stupid?” he asked softly, “You are one of the cleverest girls I know, princess.”

“Well…” she said finally, feeling as if her cheeks were truly on fire, “I thought… I could play Jenny of Oldstones and you could pretend you’re Prince Duncan of Dragonflies.” Arthur thought for a few moments and she was ready to dismiss the suggestion and call it foolish, when he grinned and the sight was as bright as sunlight. 

“That sounds splendid, but first,” he began, rising and looking around the grass for dandelions and other, pretty flowers, collecting them in his hands, “We must braid flowers into your hair.” That made the princess smile, then she smoothed out her purple dress and began helping him. When they had enough, she sat down in Arthur’s lap and relished in the closeness. He felt secure, as if all would be alright in those arms. Like they could protect her from all evil. 

“Your hair is so pretty and soft,” the Dayne murmured as he braided flowers into her hair. 

“I wish I had yours or Ashara’s,” she pouted, “Brown is so dull but black and silver-gold have such a depth to them. A river of light and one of darkness. Both equally beautiful.” 

“Don’t say that,” she heard the boy chide, “Yours is lovely. It’s deep and full of life and when the sun touches it— It looks like glimmering, burnished bronze. How could that not be comely?” Elia did not reply, but further sank into his embrace, feeling the heat of the sun stroke her skin, pleasantly warming. 

When he was done, she stood up and twirled, beaming. 

“Do I look like her?” 

“I do not know,” the boy replied honestly, “I’ve never seen her. But if you do, then she must’ve been very pretty. The flowers pay compliment to your complexion, princess.” 

“That is kind of you to say, Arthur,” Elia replied softly. 

Then, they played.

“I will leave the crown to my brother, I care not— for all I want is you. All I crave; is you,” Arthur said as he bowed in front of her, taking her hand into his. The princess thought that he played the part of Duncan very well and had an unparalleled skill for the dramatics. The Dayne spoke with passion. It was in the way he moved, he _became_ the Prince of Dragonflies. Elia only hoped she did Jenny justice. 

“You would give up the right to rule, all for me?” Arthur rose and nodded solemnly. Elia was still holding his hand and moved backwards until she felt the trunk of the large willow tree that shrouded them in leaves and flecks of sun. 

“I would do it a hundred times over. What is life, if we were not meant to love?” The Dayne was never the poet, but she supposed he’d heard many of the songs and they were sung like that. _It is always love and forever summer in the songs._

“Are you sure, my love? I am only a peasant,” the princess frowned dramatically. 

“As sure as night and day. I cannot stand the thought of ever parting from you.” Arthur was leaning over her, one of his hands still squeezing hers and the other against the tree-trunk. He was almost half-a-foot taller, even at twelve but now his face was so close that she could feel the hot breath against her face. 

“Oh, Duncan,” she replied softly, moving to cup Arthur’s face, “I love you.” The young princess wanted to kiss him, she realised. Elia wanted Ashara’s handsome, older brother to be her first kiss. It was not a bad choice, she told herself. Besides, it was a miracle that Arthur was not averse to her. Elia quite thought that she looked like an average girl, covered in the cloak of a regal title. 

“I lov-” Arthur began but the Princess put her lips on his and silenced the next words. 

For a moment, time seemed to still and Arthur froze against her lips, as if he knew not what to do henceforth. Elia withdrew, blushing and feeling embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry,” she blubbered frantically, “I just-” But the Dayne put a finger against her lips and shushed her. His violet eyes only stared into hers for a few moments, before he turned them toward her lips and slowly, placed his atop hers. It was soft and chaste but it warmed her heart. There was something truly romantic about it. The Dornish princess wondered whether that was what Prince Duncan felt, each time he’d kissed Jenny. If so, she understood why he sacrificed his crown for the Lady of Oldstones.

Then, the scenery changed and Elia transformed into an older version of herself, closer to twenty than one-and-ten— But she was still there, in more hidden meadows of Starfall— where the grass was so high it sheltered anyone from sight and the air smelled sweet of summer and flowers. 

Arthur was still there… Or was it Rhaegar? No, it couldn’t have been Rhaegar, she’d never been to Starfall with him and the hair was shorter, not the same intricate blend of colors that only a Targaryen can have. 

“Arthur?” she called and realised that the man’s tunic was lazily thrown on the grass, his beige chest illuminated by the sun, the same shade of skin as hers. 

Violet eyes turned toward her, that haunting shade he shared with his sister. The kind that stared into your soul and saw the truth for itself— All the hidden depths, all the love and sorrow you wished to hide. 

“My love, you woke,” he replied tenderly. 

“Yes,” she smiled and the knight moved forward to lean in and kiss her.

There was nothing chaste about that kiss, perhaps only the beginning. She deepened it, leaning back to feel the warm ground against her back, Arthur Dayne on top of her, all soft groans and sighs against her lips. 

“I will always love you,” he murmured, sliding a warm, calloused hand up her thigh, his mouth moving to kiss down her jaw and neck. 

“I love you,” she gasped and closed her eyes, feeling the soft locks of his hair and enjoying the warm hands on her body, “So much that it hurts.” When Princess Elia opened her eyes again, she looked to the head kissing down her collarbone and realised that the hair was curlier and more gold than it was ever silver. 

“Arth-” she frowned but her words turned to lead in her mouth when she was met with emerald eyes and not violet. 

“Elia,” Jaime murmured, “I’ve missed you.” He looked mesmerizing with those cat-green eyes and soft, full lips. 

“Jaime?” she asked but it sounded more like a plea. His pale skin was glimmering in the sun.

“I’ve missed you,” he said again, this time pouting, “I cannot get you out of my mind, it seems. Not your pretty, brown eyes or kind smile or maddening body, none of it,” the Lannister groaned, leaning down to place his lips at the side of her jaw. A large hand was moving dangerously up her thigh but she found that she enjoyed it. She wanted it there. All of it— The golden locks between her fingers and the glinting emeralds for eyes. Somehow… It did not feel like treason in her heart. It felt as right as breathing. 

“I love you,” Jaime murmured, “And it is so hard.” It was. It truly was hard to love a queen, wed to a king. Just as it would be hard to love a knight sworn to duty. Her heart clenched and maybe she loved him too. 

“Jaime,” she whispered and met his eyes, leaning into kiss him as if all the air had been stolen from her. The sounds he made were all his own and she relished in it. 

“Off,” she murmured against his lips, her hands desperately working at dragging his breeches down, succeeding after a few moments. 

“My queen,” Jaime whispered as she wrapped her legs around his waist and- 

* * *

The queen woke up, bleary eyed from sleep, half-expecting to find ser Jaime next to her but the other half of the bed remained unvacated.

“What in the name of the seven hells?” she grumbled, feeling slightly sticky with guilt and shame as she mulled over the dream. _Jaime is your companion— or was… one does not dream of their acquaintances like that,_ the queen groaned. _You cannot, you cannot. You should not, you should definitely not. He is younger than you, not even twenty. A fortnight or so from it,_ a corner of her mind told her, _and Rhaegar was twenty when you wed him._

But the dream _was_ treason. _Any_ thoughts indulging it was treason and _a queen cannot afford to entertain such, or her head will end up on a spike, no matter how well-loved she is._ Besides, it was only a dream brought upon by the… change of scenery. _Yes, my life has been quite confusing these past years. That is it. He is barely more than a boy, I am a wedded woman and a mother of two._ Even though Elia knew deep in her heart that Jaime was as much a man as they come. _It would have taken one, to save King’s Landing, to go against and kill your liege. Only a man could do that. A mere boy would have followed the orders he was given and kept his mouth shut about it._

 _But Arthur...._ She did not know why his ghost had begun haunting her so. Why she dreamt of their excursions in Starfall, when they were only young children with knobbly knees and a childish taste for adventure. _I thought when we ended whatever remained between us, that the chapter closed. That our story was finished._ It made her sad to recall, how pure everything had been, only ten or twenty years past. How they were… untainted. 

Mayhaps Dorne simply brought those memories from their hibernation, be it for better or for worse. Whether she wished it or not, Arthur had been a pivotal part of her life and for many years; an ode to help her sleep. It simply hurt to think of what they had, or might’ve. That the sweet boy from Starfall betrayed her, not once but twice. That their beautiful memories from a shared youth were somehow compromised by it. That the sweetness would always come with a tinge of sourness. 

She hadn’t it in her to be wroth and angry and screaming any longer. _I raged and cried enough for a lifetime those first moons._ That was a sorrow she never wished to experience again and her tears would not unmake anyone’s betrayals or sins. It would not succeed in anything but making the Dornishwoman even more melancholy. _I just want to rest and live. To watch my children grow in harmony._

There was no doubt in her mind that she would never forgive Rhaegar for what he did. Nor Arthur or Lyanna for the parts they played in it. _I will only put them in their places if they forget themselves but I do not strive for grief and enmity. United, we are strong._ The Dornishwoman’s heart was too gentle for such scorn and plots of treachery. Her children's futures were assured, that was all she asked. _They will live in peace and that is all I need._ This was not a sort of wound that one could master, but with time it would seal and perhaps not sting so much when it bled. 

_I am weary of fighting, they are all aware of their wrongdoings and it haunts them, even if I do not make reminders. They are not bad people but they did bad things. That is more difficult,_ Elia wagered, _when there is no clear black or white, only those damned shades of grey. There is always a monster and a hero in every story, but in this one… the only true monster was Aerys._ The war had changed them all, King Rhaegar, Queen Lyanna and Queen Elia. Ser Arthur and Ser Jaime and all those who participated, be it willingly or not. None of them were the same and who would expect them to have been? 

Putting her weary thought to rest, the Dornish queen rose and began donning one of the gowns she’d laid out before going to sleep, last eve. It was of violet samite, edging out into something darker by the ends. Once it was on, she took a look at herself in the mirror and wondered in how the fabric flowed with such an ease, in such a way her more Western gowns were simply not able. 

Some would call it slightly daring, though, as it did not have a clear neckline, but the straps instead travelled in a V-shape all the way down to the waistline, before joining into one. However, it was tight and secure enough that Elia felt comfortable, otherwise she would have switched it for something else. _This is Dorne, no one will shame me or call me a whore for donning a simple gown, even if it is not to their tastes. We are not so vapid and cruel as they are in the South._ Besides, that was how women dressed in her homeland, the climate barely allowed for aught else. 

That day, she chose the sapphire bracelet that her mother had commissioned her years ago, for it suited the gown with its dark, midnight color and perhaps she was feeling sentimental. _My mother would’ve doted upon Aegon and Rhaenys. I know it._ Then, Elia chose the same necklace of amethyst that she’d worn the previous eve. _My hair can be left as it is,_ she thought, _it does not look bad and will look better once I’ve brushed it out._ It was freeing to be without handmaidens scurrying about, speaking of matters Elia cared not for. _The only one I truly liked was Ashara but she has a babe now and was never very fond of King’s Landing._ The Dornish queen knew that her friend would return, were she to ask it. _But I will not._

Once outside of her chambers, she noted that it was the White Bull guarding her chambers. 

“Ser Gerold,” she greeted, “I shall be heading down to the great hall.” 

“This early, My Queen?” he asked and she wondered how early it truly was, as the sun rises earlier in the Dorne than it did in King’s Landing, especially during the summer. 

“I suppose,” Elia shrugged, “I did not know it was _this_ early but I was ever the person to love mornings, much to my brother’s annoyance.” 

“By that you mean the Prince Oberyn, I gather?” The White Bull smiled kindly as he walked next to her, down the stairs. Elia found that she could not bring herself to dislike the man, even though he had been stationed in the Tower Of Joy. _I must ask Rhaegar why he named the tower such a wretched thing and perhaps slap him across the face for what his answer would be._

“None other,” she smiled wryly. “I would assume Doran rises even earlier than I. It was always Oberyn who had a taste for the theatrics by wishing to wait and make a dramatic entrance.” 

They walked in silence for a few moments after that, Elia rejoicing in how the marble steps and handles of carved oak felt the same. How the paintings still hung and the ceilings remained painted with imagery of Dornish princes and princesses, famous battles and of course; Nymeria of the Rhoyne. The Dornishwoman was not aware that Ser Gerold was watching her peculiarly, with a sad, mayhaps even remorseful look in his weathered eyes. 

“It is beautiful here, My Queen.” 

“Yes,” Elia agreed in a murmur, “It is and forgive me for seeming lost in it but I was here years past. It was not so long ago that you were in Dorne, Ser.” The words were not spoken cruelly, nor vindictively or angrily. They were simply a matter of fact. 

“You are correct as ever, My Queen,” the Lord Commander said quietly, “And perhaps I am breaching a line by saying this…” he faltered but Elia chuckled, yet no joy was in the sound. 

“All of you have broached lines, what is another one, Ser?” They were nearing the great hall now, she hoped at least one of her brothers or their beloved’s would be awake. 

“I will feel the guilt and shame until the end of my days.” 

“You all will, Ser. The Kingsguard is bound to serve, to protect the king first and his family, yet you disregarded Aerys and protected a young girl who was not supposed to be _here_ , in my homeland. Aerys was your king and he was mad but you _left_ us with him. You all seemed to shove the honor and duty up your arses at that point. Ser Jaime, a young man who was not even eight-and-ten had more balls than the lot of you and finished whatever shell remained of my good-father. He is the _only_ one, save perhaps for Ser Barristan that truly deserves to sleep easily at night.” 

“There are no justifications, My Queen, so I will not make them. I cannot defend my actions by stating that I truly believed Rhaegar would save us all. That it is justified because the son is better than the father. I will not invalidate all the suffering by spewing such, it would be an insult to you and the heirs. What we did was folly, there is no other way to explain it.” 

“I am glad you are aware, Ser. Folly to that extent can never be forgiven. You all must needs live with it, as I have— Am.” 

“A fate we deserve.” _Yes,_ she nodded absentmindedly, spotting a flaxen haired man at one of the tables, holding a quill with a pot of ink and papers in front of him.

“I shall greet my friend now, Ser. You may remain.” It was an indirect order, the Dornishwoman was never fond of ordering people about, even though it was nearly mandatory of her as queen. _It dehumanizes them, reducing them to mere objects, only there to indulge me and my whims._

“Lyro,” she beamed and the Lyseni turned his pale eyes on her, scarlet lips twirling into a smile. 

“My Queen,” he greeted, rising to kiss her hand and cheek, “You look as fair as moonlight.” 

“How can you turn on the flattery so quickly in the morn?” Elia asked, smoothing out her gown and taking a seat opposite him. A peculiar look crossed those pale, blue eyes for the briefest of moments, before disappearing. 

“Flattery comes easier when it is based on truth.” 

“Aptly put,” she murmured and reached out to steal a few berries from the platter of fruit next to him, observing the Lyseni as she munched on them. 

“Is there a reason for your early awakening? I know Oberyn despises it when I do so,” her friend inquired.

“That is a habit he carries from his youth, the impetuous thing,” she chuckled and then shrugged, “And I slept alone, there was no one to bother.” Elia found herself wishing to tell him of the dream, to have him reassure her in that lovely accent of his. But mayhaps it was better to keep such matters buried. _It was only a dream._

“I did notice your relations with the king have seemed to improve and your brother told me as much, yet I do not want to pry.” 

“It is not prying if I tell you willingly, Lyro,” she eyed him softly and he nodded as if beckoning her to continue. The Lyseni put his quill away and instead grabbed a few pieces of graphite, and a blank sheet of paper. 

“Well… they have improved, I suppose,” the Dornishwoman shrugged, “I realised that my husband has… certain qualities and bitterness does not become me.” 

“Bitterness does not become anyone, yet you never struck me as such a woman. You flourish in warmth and I do not think cold would do you well. It hurts to freeze your heart and harden it to ice.” 

“Yes, I suppose,” Elia agreed, “But I also realised that resuming the bitterness and conspiring and anger would only hurt more than it would feel pleasant. My children are safe and so am I, mulling over the past would simply tear me apart, once more. But moving past does not mean I forget or overlook the betrayals, I just-” 

“-Have the strength to not let them consume you?” Lyro asked quietly, “It is admirable.” 

“It is necessary,” she replied, smiling slightly, “And after all the initial bitterness, anger and hurt took its leave of me… a tired emptiness took its place. None of us remain unscarred and the kingdom is finally at peace, why should I intentionally make things more difficult than they are? Was I a colder and crueler woman, I would have taken joy in it but-” 

“-There is none to be found, for any act of defiance could severely impact your children and the truth is that you are _not_ such a woman.” Lyro was sketching on his paper as he spoke but Elia could not see what he was drawing from that angle. 

“Yes and despite what I would have liked, my husband remains the same man he was before he left, perhaps even a better version. I cannot hate him, I tried but it bore no fruit, for my weak heart still recognised his familiarity. And the wolf-queen,” Elia lowered her voice, “She was a girl. A stupid, young woman who thought herself in love, but a girl nonetheless. She is not evil, nor cruel. Only flawed but so are we all. Lyanna has suffered for her crimes, half her family reduced to ashes and her son is a sweet, quiet thing. Both my children have taken to him, who am I to rob them of that? Who would dream of hurting an innocent child, to scorn it? I cannot, I will not.” 

Elia groaned, putting her head in her hands, “I do not know how to put my thoughts into words. What I am saying is,” she faltered, slightly waving her arms around in search for words. 

“It would have been easier, were they to have been monsters but they are not,” Lyro offered, “They are human, like you. They love, like you, they hurt and fail and feel, like you. It is difficult because they are neither black nor white, neither cruel or the Mother above. They are conflicted, young men and women who committed mistakes and are as bewildered as you are.” 

“Why are you so clever and analytical?” Elia asked with quiet, brown eyes, “You should be my counsellor or something of the sort. I could use good men around me.” 

“I would have loved that,” the man smiled kindly from across the table, “But it seems I’m in quite a mess myself.” The Dornishwoman looked up at that, noticing the uncertainty and confusion in the shape of his face. 

“What do you mean, Lyro?” she asked tenderly, turning all her attention upon the man. 

“Nothing a queen must concern herself with. It seems childish, now that I think of it,” he smiled shyly but Elia would not relent, simply staring at him until he yielded. “I just… I do not know if I am ready to be-” 

“-A father,” Elia realised, “If the child is yours.” 

“Now who’s turn is it to analyze?” the Lyseni asked wryly. 

“If it was Oberyn’s… I think it would be easier. But the thought of knowing that I created something and put it on this earth, for it to be of my own flesh and blood— It is a terrifying thought for a man such as I, Elia,” Lyro asked, his eyes no longer smiling. In fact, the man seemed paler. 

“What do you mean by that? Your past should not be allowed to rule your future. Lyro, you are far greater than many a men I’ve met in my life— Arrogant men who think they are worthy and entitled to things, simply because they have the right name or a handsome face. Do you know how I know that you will be a good father, should the child be yours or even if it’s not?” she asked. 

His pale, blue eyes grew large and he nodded, seeming desperate for reassurance. _He must not have voiced this to Oberyn or Ellaria because… they would not understand fully. They would soothe, not explain why. They are not aware of his full story and he intends to keep it that way, who am I to attempt to change that?_

“Because you are _terrified_ ,” she shared, softly gazing at him through dark lashes, “Terrified to fail, terrified to let them down, for them to feel shame over you.” 

“No one would want a father such as I,” Lyro murmured dejectedly. Elia had heard the words before but him speaking them again would not make them true. She refused for them to be. 

“Anyone would, do you not see?” the Dornishwoman asked, almost hysterically, “You are kind and sweet, with a great wit and skills for both the musical and artistic. You have a large heart and a gentle nature. Any child would rejoice to have you as their father, Lyro. There are horrible people in this world, with children they hurt and terrorize for their own gain, out of their own anger and ambition. If I should think anyone was worthy of fatherhood, it would be you.” 

“Now who is the flatterer?” the Lyseni smiled sadly

“Flattery comes easier when it is based upon truth,” she echoed his words, “And you are right to be scared because that is what parenthood is. Fear, love, joy and sadness and sorrow— all neatly rolled up in one tiny replica of you. I know I felt it, I still do. Rhaegar did as well and I am sure my brother does. But _it is_ worth it, Lyro. For their smiles and hugs, for their love and happiness. To watch them grow with pride. Nothing feels quite like it.” 

“You are a good mother, Elia Martell. Your children will grow into admirable beings, if they inherit only the littlest piece of you.” 

“Well I should hope looks is the only thing they take from their father,” she jested, earning a deep chuckle from the man in front of her, “Well, if my husband was ever anything, it is a good father. He loves our children.” It was more than many could expect from a king. Yet the shadow of how Rhaegar left them behind in his chase for those fickle lies he called prophecies would always hang over them— Defiling the sweetness with a slight sour. 

“So do not fret it, Lyro,” she murmured as the man kept sketching on his paper, “If it will be, it shall be and you will take it as it comes. Fatherhood will become you, I promise.” 

“Thank you, Elia,” he smiled kindly, pale blue eyes like shards of glass, “Really.” 

“Now what is it you are drawing,” she inquired and the man blushed prettily.

“It is not finished,” he whined, trying to shield it from her hand as she leaned forward to grasp the paper. 

“I do not care,” she told him childishly, “I _just_ want to see.” 

“Fine,” the Lyseni hissed but there was amusement in his eyes, “Sit down like a dutiful girl and you shall.” 

“Alright,” she huffed, sitting down again. Carefully, he slid the paper toward her and she was astounded to see that it was her. _But a prettier version._

“That is…” Elia was at a loss for words. The sketch was composed of her face, all the way to halfway down her shoulders. The Dornish queen on the paper looked to be half-amused, lips in a slight smirk, the shadows of her face shaded and her eyes looked strangely bright. It was a beautiful drawing but it did not feel like it was her. _The woman is too beautiful to be me._

“Don’t you like it?” Lyro’s voice broke the silence, slightly on edge. 

“Of course I do, it is beautiful,” she murmured, analyzing it further. 

“But that cannot be me,” she finished, “It is too lovely, I am not that beautiful.” That caused Lyro to frown.

“Of course it is you because you _are_ that beautiful.” 

“I always found paintings to be far too flattering. They have to be, otherwise what will separate the nobles from the commons?” she shrugged.

“This is _not_ a painting,” her friend replied, “And has the thought ever crossed your mind that people view you differently, than yourself?” 

“I see my face every day in the mirror, it is not remarkable. Nor worthy of songs.” 

“Singers are fools,” Lyro waved off, “And yes, you may greet your reflection each morn but you do not truly _see._ A person cannot observe what they look like when their eyes gloss over, or their lips part with concentration. When their cheeks pleasantly flush with happiness or wine or love. How their expression changes as it focuses or stares longingly. It is all there, in the lines of a face, the spirit can change someone and make them more lovely than words. All an artist can do is try to convey it. There is my attempt, but I assure you that you are much more lovely than that.” 

Elia wanted to believe the words but somehow they felt like those times Ashara would say that the then-princess was beautiful, or how she wished to have Elia’s long, wavy hair. Beautiful people calling mere mortals beautiful felt… unjust, somehow. _Next to the likes of Jaime, Lyro or Ashara or Rhaegar or even Cersei Lannister, I stand no chance._

And Elia had known, she’d always known. It was something that the queen had made due with, for what else was there to do? _Some are born blessed by the gods, others are not. I am grateful for having been born a princess of Dorne, to have lived the life that I have. Many are not so lucky and what is a little beauty for a good life? The pretty ones have it difficult too,_ she knew, Lyro was the proof of it. _This world spares no one. Not the young, not the beautiful. Neither the intelligent or the kind. It takes and it takes and it takes until there is naught left._

She was to change the subject when voices began emerging, making the Dornishwoman turn around, only to be greeted by her younger brother with his arm casually wrapped around Ellaria Sand’s waist. 

“What are you two gossiping about?” Oberyn asked with false disdain, “You both are horrible for your habits of waking ungodly early, do you know that?” 

“Not as horrible as you, for sleeping in during a beautiful day such as this,” she stuck her tongue out. 

“And we were gossiping about you and your utter inability and ineptness at everything,” Elia teased her brother who rose an eyebrow incredulously.

“Is that so,” he said quietly, turning to Lyro with an intense look in his eyes, causing the Lyseni’s cheeks to redden slightly. 

“I’d like to think I’ve done rather well at everything I’ve attempted in my years,” the Prince shrugged, finally speaking with that amused tilt he always had to his words, “Thank you very much, My Queen,” he mocked and she giggled despite herself. 

“Whatever, sit down.” 

“Oh, Your Grace is kind to offer so,” he rolled his eyes, snorting slightly— wincing when Elia punched his arm. 

“I love you,” she murmured, “But you are ever the pain in my arse.” 

“And I will continue to be so until the end of time, my beloved sister. There is no getting rid of me.” _I would never hope so._

*** 

After she broke her fast with her family, Rhaegar and Lyanna were strangely absent but then she knew that no one had made them aware of the joined fast-breaking— Elia visited the nursery to fetch her son, greeting Aemon quickly and then headed to Viserys and Rhaenys’s chambers, for they had overslept, it seemed no one had woken them. 

“Sweetlings,” Elia called as she entered their chambers but was met with no reply. 

“It seems they are still sleeping, aren’t they?” she asked her son, kissing one of his chubby cheeks and earning a giggle. 

“Vissy,” Aegon babbled as Elia put him down on the floor so that he could walk on his own. She was reminded that his third nameday was approaching quickly, as was Rhaenys’s fifth one and Elia’s own. _Where did the time go?_ She wondered, _my children will be grown soon. Time waits for no one, none at all._

When the Dornishwoman and the silver-haired crown-prince entered the bedchamber, she found that Rhaenys was not in her own bed, but in her uncle’s, tiny arm around the prince’s waist.

“Isn’t that sweet,” she told no one in particular. Aegon seemed excited, moving to the bed immediately and calling for his sister to wake. Tenderly, Elia sat down and woke Viserys, stroking his cheek and telling him that it was day. 

Lilac eyes met hers and before she knew it, his arms were around her in a comforting embrace. 

“Good morning,” Prince Viserys told the Dornish queen tiredly, frowning slightly when he saw a half-awake Rhaenys in his bed, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“She must’ve climbed in during the night.” 

“Yes,” Elia agreed, smiling softly, “My daughter is a sneaky little thing but she loves you well, Viserys.” 

“I know,” he told the Dornishwoman, “I love her too.” That was sweet and Elia’s heart would always squeeze warmly when she thought of her daughter’s little protector. Had the war had another outcome, the most dreaded one, she was sure that Viserys would not have been the boy he was today. _The memories of his niece would haunt him, I am sure. They would haunt anyone._ But she did not wish to think of such horrid matters. _We are well and they are closer than ever. We are alright._

“I thought we could travel to the Water Gardens today, does that sound fun, Sweetlings?” she asked all the children, Rhaenys was now fully awake, talking animatedly with her brother but turned around at Elia’s question. 

“Yes,” the girl all but shrieked, “We must dress,” she hurried them all. 

“All in good time, Rhae. I shall call for the servants to dress you and then we will ask your papa if he wishes to join, as well as Lyanna and Aemon— then we head there. Your cousins and uncles are coming too.” 

“That’s simply splendid,” Rhaenys beamed and Elia almost laughed at the choice of words, wondering where the girl had heard that from. 

“Yes, my love. Very splendid.” 

Once the prince and princess had dressed, Elia and her little entourage consisting of the children and Ser Jonothor alongside the White Bull, went in search for the king and his Northern queen. She was surprised to see he was only dressed in a simple tunic of silk and black breeches, but even more so that he was breaking his fast with Doran. _Mayhaps I should not be, whatever his personal feelings are, my brother is ever the diplomat._

“Papa,” Rhaenys and Aegon both greeted their father, running into Rhaegar’s arms and making the man laugh as he kissed their heads and murmured a hello. Viserys remained by Elia’s arm, a soft hold on her hand. _Some will call him too old for that,_ but the gesture warmed her, nonetheless. _Who decides when men should be stripped of all their comforts? When they will be called weak, instead of strong for allowing themselves to be cared for?_ She dreaded the day they would try to harden Viserys and wished he would ever remain the sweet, young boy that he was. 

“My king, Doran,” Elia greeted, “As you know we are visiting the Water Gardens today and on behalf of the children and I, we wondered if you would like to join?” Indigo eyes turned to her and she noticed that the worry-lines on his forehead had disappeared slightly. Perhaps Sunspear gave him a rest from the weariness of Storm’s End and tediousness of ruling. 

“Yes, your brother invited me along,” Rhaegar shared kindly and she turned her eyes upon Doran who nodded. 

“Splendid,” she replied, “Has anyone told Lyanna?” 

“I do not think so,” Rhaegar frowned, “She is in the nursery with Aemon, I reckon. I could ask her later-” he began but the Dornishwoman interrupted him.

“-No, I can do it,” the Dornishwoman shrugged, “You watch the children and get them ready, instead,” she smiled evilly. 

“Well played, My Queen,” her husband eyed her amusedly, “I shall do so, then.” Rhaenys and Aegon were already comfortably in their father’s laps, leaning their heads against his chest. 

“I shall steal Viserys away as my little helper, though, if he agrees,” she looked to the Targaryen prince who nodded. 

“Then it is settled,” came Doran’s voice, “We leave in an hour or so? After all the children have eaten and such?” 

“I should think so, brother.” Then, Elia walked toward her eldest brother and gave him a kiss on the cheek, speaking a goodbye. _He looks stronger today,_ she thought and hoped it was enough. 

Viserys remained ever the silent shadow as he walked next to her and Elia thought that in a few years, he would surpass her in height and how she would miss having that sweet, little boy beside her. . 

“Do you miss your mother, Viserys?” she asked gently and the boy looked at her and nodded.

“Yes and Dany too but I am happy to be here. I like travelling,” the boy murmured. _Your father never allowed you to do much of the sort._

“It is a pretty little nickname we’ve given your sister, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, I quite like it. It suits her like Rhae does Rhaenys and Egg does Aegon, even though his name does not sound like Egg.” 

“It came from your great-uncle, Maester Aemon. He used to call his brother Egg as well and Rhaegar thought it would suit this one too.” 

“I’ve never met great-uncle Aemon, Rhaegar and mother have only spoken of him,” the silver-haired boy shared, “Do you think we can visit him in the North?” Elia thought for a few moments before replying.

“I would be surprised if your brother has not made those arrangements already, they used to correspond greatly via ravens. I am sure we will happen upon him and that he will be delighted to meet you— I shall ask Rhaegar.” 

“Thank you, Elia.” They were almost by the nursery now.

“It is no matter, Viserys. Now what do you think of your other nephew, Aemon?” She had not witnessed the boy engaging with his new nephew and greatly wondered what he made of the child who was to be two years old at the end of the year. _Granted there are many moons until then but to imagine it has been so long. Viserys was seven, now he is almost nine._

“He is very quiet, I suppose,” the prince shrugged, still holding her hand, “And he does not look like Rhaegar very much. Egg and Rhae do, but there’s more of you in Rhae than there is of my brother.” 

“Have you engaged with him much?” Elia asked her good-brother as they were about to enter the nursery. 

“I greet him when I am to see Daenerys in the nursery and then sometimes when I say goodnight to Aegon, other than that.... I suppose not very much. Mother says I should go more often.”

“Do you agree with her?” 

“Mother is right more oft than not and I do not want to make her sad.” 

“Aemon is a sweet babe, gentle and shy, not unlike Aegon was before he grew into his charming smiles. He will do well with your company.” 

“I will try to see him more, I promise,” Prince Viserys told her, sincerity in his eyes like lilac flowers. 

“That is good,” she said, giving him a smile. 

Rhaegar was correct, Lyanna was in the nursery, singing softly to her son. _I’ve never heard that tune before. Perhaps it is Northern._

“Elia,” Lyanna greeted, smiling but the Dornishwoman cringed inwardly as she saw the blue cotton gown that her fellow queen had chosen to don. _Mayhaps they did not stock her closet, as they did mine. It will be a fiercely hot day today, I do hope she does not faint._

“Our husband told me I could find you here,” the Dornishwoman shared. 

“Oh, what for?” Lyanna asked, adjusting a drowsy Aemon in her arms. _His hair has grown out, as dark as his mother’s._

“I wished to ask you if you wanted to join us. We are all travelling to the Water Gardens for the children to play. It is not so far from here and an excursion will do us all well.”

“May I hold him?” Viserys asked suddenly and the Northerner seemed strangely taken aback by the question, as if she had not expected it, but she recovered quickly. 

“Yes, of course. You are his uncle.” Then, the she-wolf carefully handed the sleepy prince over, he barely fussed as his mother’s embrace was switched for his uncle’s. Viserys looked to Elia as if the gesture was meant to prove he was sincere. Then, he began swaying softly as the young child rested its head on his shoulder, chubby hands softly clutching silver-gold curls.

“Mayhaps you should sit down Viserys, as to not tire you,” Elia nodded to the boy and turned back to Lyanna, “So, do you wish to join?” 

“Only if your family would want us there,” the girl said shyly, “I would not wish to impose.”

“All of us are going and if my brother invited Rhaegar, it extends to you too. They will not treat you ill.” _Well Oberyn has made no promises but no one would expect him to. Doran will be courteous and so will Mellario be. I do not think Lyro nor Ellaria will attempt to even engage with her._

“Alright,” Lyanna smiled, “Then we will join you.” 

“Good, you have a little less than an hour to ready yourselves and the carriages will be waiting.” Then, she beckoned Viserys to hand his nephew back to Lyanna who accepted him with a gentle expression. When Elia was by the door, she felt a hand wrap around her wrist.

“Thank you,” Lyanna said with glossy, grey eyes, “For thinking of us.” The Dornishwoman moved to give Aemon’s cheek a tender caress and finished by kissing the dark, brown tufts of hair atop his head.

“Like I said; we are all going. Why not you as well?” 

***

The sun of Dorne blazed down upon its victims and Elia was grateful for her choice of dressing, but that did not mean she didn’t feel the heat. They’d finally arrived at the Water Gardens and she’d spied Ser Jaime helping Rhaenys out of the carriage _. That means he is here, at the least._ The Lannister knight looked as if he wished to speak with her but there was no time for it. The princess demanded his attention and the Queen’s family demanded hers. 

Rhaenys had learned how to swim in King’s Landing but Oberyn’s oldest daughters and Viserys still promised that they’d watch over the girl and make sure that nothing happened to her. _Children are wild and playful, even though the waters are not deep, I do not wish for Rhaenys to accidentally be pushed underneath and struggle to rise._ Aegon and Aemon were given their own small basin by the dais, where their parents could watch over them, as neither Rhaegar, Elia or Lyanna felt comfortable allowing them to be let loose in the Water Gardens. 

Once everyone had settled down in their armchairs, Elia next to Rhaegar with Lyanna in front of her and Oberyn to the right, who in turn had Ellaria and Lyro next to him and the latter had Mellario and Doran in front of them. 

“Can you believe it was not so long ago that we were children in this pool?” she asked her brothers with a wide smile. 

“I never bathed with you and Oberyn. I had outgrown the pools since long, when you were naught but children running around here, happy smiles on your faces,” Doran replied evenly. 

The sounds of Aegon playing with the toys and merrily splashing in the water, alongside his more quiet brother warmed her heart and she hoped that the children would grow to be as close as Elia and her own brothers were, as they grew. 

“They were better times,” Oberyn seconded and she had to agree. _They were, life was not so complicated when we were children. Or perhaps it was— Just better hidden._

“Have you heard anything from Ashara?” Elia asked her brothers suddenly. They were due to visit Starfall in a moon’s turn, but all the Dornishwoman knew of her dear friend these days, were the letters that Lady Dayne fashioned her on the occasion. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Arthur tense, as if he was straining to hear the news as well. _If he does not, I will convey the information. It is his sister and he loves her well._

“She is well,” the Red Viper began, “From what I’ve read of her letters, the babe has given her much strength and her heart is no longer so stifled with sorrow.” 

“What do you mean?” Queen Elia asked, _sorrow?_ Perhaps it had to do with the father of Naella… or the shame of birthing a bastard? _No, Ashara would never feel shame for such. There is no shame, this is Dorne._

“She has a child but no husband, no man by her side. Is it not queer, sister? Our Ashara was never the sort to wish to have a fatherless child.” 

“What happened to him, do you know?” She’d forgotten that there were other people around them, until Oberyn’s viper’s eyes analyzed Lyanna for a few moments, finally turning them back upon his sister with a shrug. 

“She’s not been very forward with such information, but he is alive. I know that.” _I’ll get the entirety of the tale out of him, later. He seems unwilling to tell it here and I understand._

“I see.” 

“Will you resume your lessons with my brother, Prince Oberyn?” Rhaegar asked suddenly, “He’s not quite forgotten them and seems eager to resume. You’ve made quite an impression on him.” 

“Well someone had to,” Elia could’ve sworn she heard her brother snort under his breath. “But he is a promising force, I believe something great could be made of him, were he to be taught rightly.” 

“It would be an honor for Viserys to be taught by the famed Prince Oberyn of Dorne.” 

“An honor, a pain, mayhaps both or neither. Do not give the boy illusions that it will be easy, he saw little in King’s Landing— There is much more to be known and it is a difficult road.” _He will do it, though. Maybe for the talent he sees in my good-brother, or because he knows how dear Viserys is to my heart._

“I will speak with him, to make sure that he knows,” Rhaegar nodded thoughtfully. 

“Is it not very hot in that gown, My Queen?” Mellario of Norvos asked Lyanna, who in turn seemed surprised that she was even considered. _Yes, it does look quite hot and she looks paler than usual._ The she-wolf smiled at the question but it looked more like a grimace to Elia.

“I am quite well, thank you, My Lady.” Mild conversation ensued after that and the Dornishwoman felt a strange pang of sympathy for the wolf-girl, even though she knew that it wasn’t deserved.

“Have some water, Lyanna,” Elia leaned forward to murmur, unaware that both her brothers observed the interactions, making their own opinions of it. Nodding, the girl poured herself a goblet, instead of asking the servants and that made the Dornish queen feel as if all hope was not yet lost. _Vanity is a raging fire and it is good that she does not possess it._

“It is pretty here,” the pale woman tried to make conversation and Elia agreed, staring out toward the pools. Rhaenys was squealing and perched up on her uncle’s shoulders, splashing water at Tyene and Arianne. _I know why Doran likes it here. It calms the soul and fills one with ease, a calm of sorts. The beauty of innocence._

“It is,” Elia agreed, “You never saw all of Dorne in its true beauty, only that wretched tower in which you maimed with blood and grief and life.” 

“What is Starfall like?” Lyanna asked after a few moments, for there was naught she could respond to her fellow queen’s earlier statement. The question brought back memories, further emphasising her earlier dream that had been gnawing on her. 

“It is beautiful,” Elia smiled fondly, idly turning to see Rhaegar leaning forward slightly and conversing with Lyro. _They are both inclined toward the musical and artistic, they’ve much in common but are also world’s apart._ “The sky is often a clear azure, the waters are turquoise gems and the beaches so soft that it feels as if you are walking on silk.” 

“That sounds lovely,” Lyanna breathed, a strange glow to her eyes. _Perhaps she liked travelling as well and none of us truly enjoyed Storm’s End. Dorne is much different to the other kingdoms and for that, I am grateful._

“It is as breathtaking as its name, truly. Beautiful meadows cover the area, wildflowers grow in heaps and during the nights— Oh the nights are beautiful,” she reminisced, “The stars light up the sky in ways you’ve never experienced before.” 

“That truly seems remarkable.” 

“It is,” the Dornishwoman agreed, thinking back to the nights she’d spent with Arthur under the stars of Starfall. _When there was only him and I,_ “And the climate there is milder than it is here in Sunspear.” 

After a few more hours of bathing for the children, it was time to return to Sunspear, much to the children’s distaste.

“We will come here again, my sweet. Many times, I promise,” Elia told her daughter as she gently dried Rhaenys’s brown curls, Rhaegar doing the same to his brother, even though Viserys was more than capable of doing it on his own. 

Rhaegar ceased to be the young princeling’s king when he did that. He was only Rhaegar, brother of Viserys and it warmed her heart to see. _It is not often they share moments like these and I oft forget that until recently, they were the only purebred Targaryens left in the world._ Yet her husband most likely found it difficult, having a brother young enough to be his son— no other Targaryen male older than him to turn to, except Maester Aemon. _A Targaryen all alone in the world is a terrible thing, it mustn't ever come to be,_ she recalled the Maester having written to his great-nephew once. _They aren’t now._

 _Viserys looks to my husband and admires him, what boy of nine would not? He wishes only to earn the pride of the king, his older brother and liege, to make my husband happy with him. It is a difficult burden to bear and second-sons are often overlooked, in favor of the first._ She hoped Viserys would learn to live for himself and not deny himself things on behalf that his brother may not agree. _I will make it so,_ she vowed. _He will be happy, I shall see to it. All of them will be, they should not feel the suffering of their elders, we need to make sure._

***

“Doran,” she greeted, entering the Prince of Dorne’s chambers and moving to give him a kiss on his temple and cheek. Her brother had invited her for a personal supper, “Is Mellario not here?” 

“No, she is quite indisposed, I fear.” The Dornishwoman sat down, eyeing her brother, the gentle lines of his face, the soft look he always harbored for her, how his eyes were the color of a gentle, light bronze. _Mellario is not indisposed,_ she realised, _or maybe she is but if he dined alongside his wife, it would cause less suspicion than meeting me alone. They may still fear conspiracies and plots,_ she knew. _I may have wanted vengeance in the beginning but now I am tired and will not pay for it with fire and blood._

“My favorites,” Elia breathes, staring at the candied plums on the table, “You remember still, after all these years.”

“How could I ever forget, Elia?” Doran asked, “How are you, truly?” 

“I am… well,” she replied after a few moments, moving to fill her plate with rice and one of the stews on the table, “For the first time in a long time, I feel strangely at ease. Mayhaps that is simply because I am home.” 

“Oberyn told me that you seemed melancholy more oft than not, when he visited King’s Landing. I am pleased to hear you are better now but will King’s Landing keep with your happiness?”

“King’s Landing does not keep with anyone, I fear,” she laughed, tucking a few stray, brown strands of hair behind her ear “But I feel I have a purpose now. Rhaegar allows me to participate in the small council meetings and I have a role in governing the realm. Many of the withered old men and women do not feel it is my place, as a woman… A Dornish one at that but it is the least my husband could do for me and he seems happy to have someone to share the burdens of ruling with. I do not mind it at all.” 

“I assume you’ve made quite the name for yourself, then?” her brother smiled kindly, “You always had the mind and wit for these boring matters of governing. I should hope that when my daughter grows, she looks to her aunt for inspiration.” 

“You are too kind, Doran.” 

“And some may say the same for you,” he eyed her intensely but there was no judgement in it, only a tinge of… _sadness?_

“What I mean is that many women would have sought to endlessly torment and pain their husband, were he to have brought home a new wife and son, after shaming them so publicly. Some would even have hurt the child as well as the wife, but not you.”

“Not me,” Elia agreed, taking a sip of the Arbor Gold, “Sometimes I wonder if my inability to harden my heart in these matters is destined to be my downfall.” 

“Do not think of it like that,” her brother told her sharply, “A gentle flower is better than one with thorns, however they may be needed on the occasions. You are not without your prickliness I’ve seen, sister, but you remain soft to the touch and it is no weakness. It is a strength to be blessed with humility and the gift to handle matters with grace, rather than rashness and anger.” 

“I was not very gentle in the beginning, I fear. You would have been surprised,” she smiled, taking a bite out of the food on her plate. 

“I can imagine that but it was well-earned, even you know.” 

“It was but inevitably… the rage and anger and bitterness slowly take their leave, leaving a strange emptiness instead, a hole of melancholy and mayhaps that is worse. All I know is that they are suffering for their crimes, whether we see it or not and it will never be enough, no, but it is something.” 

“You’ve not forgiven them, then? Or should I say your husband?” 

“No,” Elia snorted and shook her head sadly, “We almost died. He put our children’s lives at risk, like a drunkard playing at a game of dice. It cannot be forgiven, ever, but,” she faltered, eyes glazing over with reminiscence, or was it nostalgia? “When I look at him, he is still the same. That stupid, foolish, beautiful and tender man that a part of me still incessantly clings to— That a part of me will always love, even though I am not in love, not any longer.” Doran seemed to understand her words deeply, drinking them in. _Is he having trouble with Mellario? He wed her so quickly, it seemed almost a dream. Perhaps now, the magic has faded, leaving the remnants of a truth he wishes would remain unfound._

“And the woman? Will she pose a threat to your children, my niece and nephew?” 

“Lyanna?” Elia laughed, shaking her head, “No. I would have killed her myself, were it so,” she finished bluntly.

“She seems… fragile.” Doran took a sip of his wine, his joints swollen.

“She is,” Elia nodded, “A foolish, young girl who thought herself in love, is what she was. There is no doubt in my mind that she didn’t expect their foolish rendezvous to come to this… But alas, it did. Yet she is trying to better herself, to be a true queen and why should I stop her?” 

“Many would not be so… gentle with her as you are. I saw you offering her water earlier, the same concerned look clouding your face as it did when you were young and fussed over the servants and handmaidens alike.” 

“It is tiring to be hateful,” Elia shrugged, “It drains oneself and I bear her no malice, nor her son. She lost her brother and father to her own foolishness and I suspect it keeps her awake at night. I was not gentle with her in the beginning, and never coated the truth in a layer of sugar. It reduced her to tears many a times, but that did not make it any less true and she knew. I hope my words prove to harden her.” 

“That is graceful of you, sister, I would expect no less.” Doran frowned as if in pain for a few moments and she was prepared to ask him if he was alright, when he opened his eyes, shining with tears like tiny crystals. 

“When the news came that the mad king had barricaded you and your children in Maegor’s Holdfast, I raged like I had never before. I was so angry, Elia,” he sighed, “I wished to travel to the Trident and end your husband myself, for all the grief he’d caused you.” 

“I am fine now, Doran, I am alright,” she soothed, leaning forward and putting a slender hand on his swollen wrist. 

“Yes, but when I heard that he’d also taken another wife and fathered a son on her— keeping them here, in your homeland, in my kingdom!” he raised his voice, “I nearly rallied every man of fighting age in Dorne. I would have, no doubt, if they were to threaten the succession of your children.”

“Even Rhaegar is not so foolish at that.” However, she recalled that even she’d made that assumption when first faced with that horrid truth and how long she’d doubted Lyanna’s intentions for. 

“No but he shamed you terribly and Dorne does not forget. This kingdom is ever on your side, sister and should the time come where you would ever need it— We will stand by our blood and heirs. I know it is not needed now, but I am only making you aware. Simply because I converse and engage with your husband does not mean I will ever condone or forgive the slights he has made against us, just like you will never. It is hard, to still love someone who has betrayed you, but their deception does not unmake what we feel for them, I fear.” Doran paused for a brief second, “The heart is treacherous like that,” he finished, lips tilting into a wry smile aimed toward the foolery of loving and being loved. 

“It truly is,” she agreed, “But I must confess, on the occasion; Oberyn’s barely-veiled snide remarks and insults prove to be of great humor to me.” 

“I can imagine that,” her brother laughed slightly, “Our brother loves you so fiercely that I sometimes wonder how he has not ended your husband yet.”

“He said he would, I managed to discourage him from that course of action.” 

“Oberyn is a man who hungers for justice and vengeance. I fear what he would’ve done, were he to have lost you. He is frightening in the height of his fury.”

“I’ve missed you both so much,” Elia spoke, close to tears. She was in Dorne with her brothers now, all would be well. Doran’s embraces had made everything alright as a girl, why should it not, now? _Because the monsters are no longer under my bed and I am not a girl of ten._

“As we’ve missed you, gentle Elia,” he replied, leaning forward to embrace her. He smelled just the same, of Dorne and sand and lemons. He had remained the same and she wished that she would’ve, as well. 

“How are your relations with Mellario?” the Dornishwoman whispered, “How is she taking your illness?” 

“That is mayhaps a sadder story,” the prince murmured, arms still around his sister, “Neither of us are the same as we were when we met. I was a prince and she was a beautiful, young woman. Our foundation was lust and that does not make a marriage. It may hide under the guise of one, but want fades and what remains? Two people who grow to resent their hasty decision and in turn hate themselves for feeling that way, for being displeased with the way things turned out to be.” 

“But she must love and care for you,” Elia replied, leaning backward again. Doran’s brown eyes turned to her and he shook his head, as if witnessing the naivety of youth. 

“Many people do not love each other and are wed. Mellario and I were lucky to have cared deeply for each other and sometimes; lust is mistaken for love. But the magic has faded now and me being a prince has lost its grandeur for her, I reckon. She misses her home, Norvos. I cannot give that to her and it wounds me.” 

“I suppose I’ve been luckier than you in that aspect but not quite, when one sees how things ended up.” 

“Arthur and Rhaegar,” her brother murmured and the Dornishwoman’s heart nearly stopped, “So different but so alike,” he continued in a ponder. _He knew of Arthur_? “By the look of your face, I assume you never knew that I was aware?”

“No,” Elia shook her head. There was no point in lying to her older brother. _What was he to do? Tell Rhaegar?_ It nearly made her laugh. 

“The youth is often naive, thinking their elders are blind. Sometimes I suspect that mother knew and left you be, for you knew your duty and would separate it from your heart… but I cannot say for sure.” 

“When did you realise?” she asked, sharp brown eyes meeting his through dark lashes. 

“I cannot say for sure,” her brother began, still gazing at her softly, “Maybe it felt as if it had been since dawn of time, or mayhaps when I noticed the way you would look at him with the adoration of love. As if he was your sun and you would perish without his light. Arthur fared no better, always finding excuses to be near you. Maybe Twas when you begged to travel to Starfall, hiding under the guise of wanting to see Ashara’s home. I was young and thought myself in love once or twice, too. I knew the signs.” 

“It does not matter now,” she shook her head, “I wed his dearest friend. Then he betrayed me for that friend.” 

“He wished to wed you, I have no doubt. There was true worship in his eyes, every time he looked at you but alas, he was a second son of a vassal house. Mother would’ve never agreed to it and perhaps he thought he was sparing you further pain by joining the Kingsguard. A romantic gesture of sorts— Promising to love no other than duty.” 

“He still betrayed me,” she mumbled and the words made her eyes sting unpleasantly. 

“I know,” her brother said softly, “But I do not ever think that was his intent. Yet it was still what came to be and I suspect he shall never forgive himself.” 

“I-” she began, wanting to tell her brother of how she did not know quite what she felt these days. _If I love Rhaegar or Jaime or Arthur or all three in different ways._

“You still care for him, do you not? And being in Dorne has brought whatever you tried to bury, back to the surface?” How he could understand so well, she knew not.

“I do not know,” she sighed, “And it does not matter. I left my dreams at the gates when I became queen. Along with my heart at the door, leaving it for dead because I simply could not take it too.” 

“That is a lie you tell yourself,” Doran told her gently, reaching out to place his hand on hers, “One that you think will help, but inevitably only furthers your decline.” 

“It was all so innocent when I was young. The game is fouler these days,” Elia told him, noticing that the sun was close to setting in the West. 

“Love is a luxury few can afford and sometimes we are only able to receive it in parts. We tell ourselves that a little piece is better than nothing, but is it truly so? I am of the belief that sometimes, we seek parts of people and not the whole. You may love your husband but it is not in the same way you love Arthur? They belong to two different parts of your life and rightly claim two different pieces of your heart. Such a painful way to live, sister. Reaching for what one can never have.” 

“It is all I have,” she replied so sadly, “But Arthur remains my past and Rhaegar my present.” 

“And what of the future?” he asked but they both knew the answer. 

“There will be no future. Only an ever-present present. I would not have been able to take a paramour, even if I’d wished so, if that is your meaning. I would’ve had to pay for it with my head. Most like not at Rhaegar’s behest, but the council’s. They are prickly old men and if this world has taught me anything; It is that men do not like to share what they deem theirs.” 

“An unfortunate truth,” the Prince of Dorne murmured, “So many deserve to be loved but are doomed to misery. Love is a great glory for those who are able to attain it. The rest of us are left crawling on the ground, grasping for whatever we can reach.” 

“I hope you are able to mend your relations with Mellario. Love can grow out of pain.” 

“I am not quite so sure this time, sister,” he smiled sadly, “And I only wish for your happiness, for your husband to give you the world, even though he will not. For you to know true love as you did in your youth. It is a terrible thing to feel lonely, _especially_ when surrounded by people.” 

“Why are you so clever, Doran?” she laughed, trying to make it sound less sad than it was.

“I suppose a better word for it is _‘experienced’_ , I was young like you, once even though my appearance conceals it.” 

“You are too harsh on yourself, brother.” 

“I could say the same to you, Elia,” he murmured. The subject of love and misery made her weary and melancholy, so she changed it.

“What became of uncle Lewyn’s family?” she asked, feeling grief coming to choke her. _I miss him terribly. The golden eyes and gentle smile that reminded me of Oberyn, even though he was not there._

“I’ve seen to them,” said Doran solemnly, “They lack for nothing except our uncle who is dead and gone and ashes. I fear no amount of golden dragons can buy that back.” 

“He was a good man,” she said fiercely, wiping away a stray tear that escaped her eyes.

“And a good father,” Doran mused, “Alas, not even the greatest of men are spared in war.” 

“I wish to meet them,” Elia requested, “They are still our kin and Rhaegar deserves to see the innocent victims of his war.” 

“They live not far from here, in a holdfast by the sea, as per the mother’s request. Our uncle loved the sea. And as far as your husband is concerned; Our uncle still committed treason by fathering children and acquiring a paramour.” 

“All of the Kingsguard were aware of Lewyn’s secret, yet they spoke nothing because it was _not_ their place and being a prince begets some advantages of its own. It is the sword in your hand that matters, not the one between your legs, he always did his duty.” 

“I remember him telling me that, as he told Arianne, I think.” 

“And as far as my husband goes, he should not throw stones in a castle made of glass. He committed treason, more foul than any of Lewyn’s ever was. Our uncle never crossed the line between duty and family, he kept them separate. Arthur committed treason by guarding Lyanna in that wretched tower, so did the White Bull and so did Oswell Whent and most of the Kingsguard, save for Ser Barristan and Jaime. They should not speak of soiling cloaks when their own are not white,” The Dornishwoman bristled. 

“You are quite right,” Doran allowed, looking proud of his sister, whose thorns were small but lethal once used. “Jaime?” he asked after a few moments, “Oberyn mentioned you seemed close with him in King’s Landing. I must confess all I know of the man is that he is young and Tywin Lannister’s son. Therefore I urge caution.” 

“Jaime saved us,” she murmured, “And he is nothing like his sister or father.” 

“Mayhaps not,” the Prince of Dorne pondered, “Does he bring you comfort?” 

“Very much so,” she confessed, “At least in the beginning. He was a breath of fresh air, after I had spent years in a stifling room where I could not breathe. He is haunted by the ghosts of this war as well and was such a young man, to have witnessed all the horror.” 

“I hear he is Rhaenys’s sworn shield?”

“She loves him,” Elia beamed, “And he treats her with such tenderness that it can warm anyone’s heart.” 

“Your daughter has the habit of drawing everyone she meets under her spell. A lovely girl, she is, so promising.” 

“I do not know how I made such good children.” 

“I suppose being good yourself was an apt starting point.” 

“Perhaps,” Elia laughed, “But Jaime… he made me laugh again and was never afraid to speak his mind. It was refreshing, to have such honesty after being surrounded by a veil of lies and false flattery. 

“Well,” Doran said, “I should be intrigued to speak with him, when our paths cross.” 

“He has a wry sort of humor I think that you’ll appreciate. Oberyn certainly did.” 

“Well… if Oberyn of all can accept dear Ser Jaime, then I would be hard-pressed not to,” her brother smiled, “Especially since he’s made you so happy.”

“He has,” she murmured, _but now he is acting strange and I know not what to do._

“How about I see to making arrangements on meeting our uncle’s family in the coming week?” 

“That would be splendid,” Elia beamed, picking at her empty plate. _I should retire to bed soon._

“Should you rather they come here, or visit them.” 

“I think visiting them would be humbling, especially for Rhaegar— So that is what we will do.”

“Alright,” Doran grinned and for a second, she forgot that he was ill. 

***

When she entered her chambers, she found Rhaegar sitting on the armchair, reading one of the books from the bookshelf. 

“It is amusing how they let you in but refused Oberyn.” He turned indigo eyes upon her, scarlet lips tilting into a slight smirk. 

“I suppose being your husband has its benefits.” 

“And being my kin and brother does not?”

“I do not know,” he murmured, still smiling, “Ask the guards perhaps?” 

“I fear I am too tired for that,” the Dornishwoman yawned, “Oberyn will have to make due with being announced, however much he may resent it.” That made her husband chuckle and hum in agreement. 

“Where were you?” he asked suddenly, closing the book and putting it on the table. “It is quite late. I’ve been here a while.” 

“Did I make Your Grace wait?” she mocked light-heartedly, “Oh, how shall I ever repay you?”

“I can think of a few ways,” the silver-haired man murmured and she picked up a decorative pillow, throwing it at him with ease, laughing as he made a sound of surprise. 

“You are a dirty, dirty, depraved man,” she scolded casually. 

“Only for you,” he teased and she remembered that Arthur had said the same thing and the memory made her weary. 

“I was dining with Doran,” she shared, walking into her bedchamber and opening her closet to pick out a nightshift. 

“Were you?” he asked, following her into the room, leaning against the wall and watching as she rummaged through the silks and samites and fabrics— Finally settling on a shift made of purple silk, reaching to her thighs. 

“Yes, that is what I said.” 

“Was his wife not with you?” Rhaegar asked and she noticed he was wearing the same tunic as earlier, his head devoid of the crown. 

“Mellario was indisposed,” the Dornishwoman replied and shrugged out of her pretty gown, leaving it in a pool by her feet. Elia would never cease to be marveled by the predictability of men. _And in three, two, one-_

“Was she now?” came the king’s voice, barely a murmur against her neck, his arms wrapped around her waist. 

“Yes, now shoo, I am dressing,” she chided, turning around to face him, his eyes almost black in the dark light of the chamber. 

“I much more prefer this, I must confess,” Rhaegar smiled, the moonlight from the window, catching in his silvery hair— making it glint like starlight. 

“All men do but unfortunately, it is not your choice.” 

“Prickly, I like it,” he smirked but moved away from her, instead unlacing and removing his tunic before throwing himself on the bed with a sigh.

“That feels good,” he groaned, “Your sheets are cool.” 

“Weakling,” she laughed and her husband raised his head along with an eyebrow. 

“What did you call me?” 

“Weakling,” Elia repeated, smiling as she donned the nightgown and removed her jewels, placing them in their rightful place. 

“We’ll see about weakling,” he murmured sleepily and soon enough, she joined him on the left side of the bed. 

“You looked very lovely in that gown today,” the king mumbled, wrapping his arm around her waist and resting his head in the crook of her neck. 

“Thank you,” she replied softly, feeling betrayed by how her heart softened at the comment and how her hand moved to rest atop his. 

“You did,” he moved to kiss her cheek gently, before placing his head on the pillow, groaning after a few moments of fussing around. “It is too hot for pants,” her husband grumbled, rising to remove his breeches. 

“It is,” Elia agreed, close to sleep, “And also; we will be visiting Lewyn’s family within the week, to pay our respects.” 

“We will?” came Rhaegar’s voice from across the room, “Well,” he supposed, voice getting closer to her as he moved back to the bed, “It is the least we can do.”

“The very least,” Elia agreed and then she felt warm arms turn and drag her to his chest. 

“I am so very sorry for what happened,” came her husband’s voice, eerily quiet, “You must know that.” 

“I do not know much of anything anymore, husband,” she sighed, toying with the planes of his chest as her head lay against it, one leg over his hip, “All I know is that we are all very sorry.” She heard him exhale loudly. 

“Goodnight, Elia,” Rhaegar murmured, kissing the top of her head. 

“Goodnight,” she breathed, already half-asleep. 

***

The next few days passed in such a blur that the Dornishwoman could barely feel the passing of time. Minor feasts were thrown occasionally, with loud, sweet music in the background that reminded her of simpler days. Then, Oberyn would oft opt for excursions and it seemed the Targaryen siblings had inherited their uncle’s lust for adventure, often relishing in the different activities. 

Though her thoughts often drifted to a young knight of the Kingsguard and perhaps a seasoned one as well. She’d not had the time to properly engage with Jaime, even though she gravely wished to speak with him. _To sort out whatever went wrong between us._ Elia missed his carefree smile, the way he was able to make her forget reality for a simple second and make her only a woman, not a queen, not a scorned wife. He allowed her to simply be and that was a rarity in her world full of reminders.

One day past, Viserys had been made to spend the day with Doran, to learn from the prince’s daily duties. Her brother hadn’t minded the young prince at all, in fact; Prince Doran seemed pleased by the interest Viserys had in the matters of state and other things of the sort. _Arianne much more fancies boys and the arms of her cousins._ When supping with Elia that evening, the boy had spoken eagerly of how Doran had told him that he would make a fine man some day and how interesting adult life seemed. 

_"Oh, Sweetling,” Elia began, kissing the silver-gold curls that adorned her good-brother’s head, “Do not wish to be grown quite so yet. It is hard being a man grown and one can never truly prepare for it. Enjoy your youth while it lasts, Viserys. You will have the rest of your life to be a man— But you are only a boy now.”_

Today the day came for them to travel to visit Lewyn’s paramour and Elia was sitting on the edge of her bed in her nightshift, staring into the open closet and wondering what to wear. How to do her hair and how to act. _Mayhaps the white gown with the golden threading— or black for mourning. Mayhaps I should go with the white, they need not be reminded of death and I have no wish to tear open wounds that are still healing._

With that decided, she began dressing and wondering what her uncle’s family would be like, what he’d look like. Was the woman Dornish or did she simply call Dorne home? Elia had not asked Doran for any details and he would not be making the journey with them, stating that he’d had a rather horrid flare-up of his gout. It felt horrible for her, as a sister to see her brother in pain— Suffering from a disease in which he’d never recover from. All she hoped was that there would be a way to stop the progression of the gout. 

When she was finally dressed, she left her hair to flow down her back freely and donned a simple, golden diadem of entwined leaves, leaving the crown that officially made her a queen, behind. She felt giddy and nervous, thinking that perhaps they would not like her and the children. That they would blame them as an entirety for Rhaegar’s own mistakes. 

After the Dornishwoman deemed her reflection decent enough, she left her chambers and broke fast with Oberyn and Ellaria, after that she visited the nursery to greet the children and saw to it that Aegon was dressed for the journey. Then, she went in search for Rhaenys, who was in the library with Viserys. The boy was reading her a story regarding Nymeria of the Rhoyne. 

“Come along, Sweetling,” Elia told her daughter, “We leave soon.” 

“You’re going to meet Ser Lewyn’s family? Rhaegar told me of it,” Viserys asked quietly as the girl moved out of his lap and to her mother. 

“We are,” the Dornishwoman nodded, smiling at the boy, “Did you know my uncle well?” _No he did not, his father would’ve never allowed it and Lewyn was never stationed around my good-brother, but I will ask anyway._

“Not really,” the boy shrugged, “But I recall he always had a smile on his face and once,” Viserys continued excitedly, “He lifted me up into the air and I felt as if I could touch the sky.” 

“How sweet,” she murmured and then felt guilty for not having asked Viserys if he would have liked to join. 

“Would you wish to join us, sweetling? There is room for another in the carriage, or you could spend the day with Oberyn or Doran or the children.” Her good-brother pondered for a moment before reaching a conclusion. 

“I think I’ll stay. Prince Oberyn promised to teach me how to throw a spear.” 

“How splendid!” Elia beamed, “You will do great, I am sure.” The compliment caused the boy to blush but he mumbled a thanks, nonetheless. 

“Say goodbye to your uncle, Rhaenys. You will not be seeing him for the entire day.” Upon that, the girl ran from her mother’s side to embrace her uncle, speaking of how she’d pick him some seashells by the sea.

“That is very kind of you, Rhae,” Viserys smiled and then they were off on their way, to search for wherever Rhaegar was. 

They found him in his chambers, gazing out his balcony with the flowy drapes, perhaps admiring the refined beauty of Sunspear. He turned to them with a smile, upon their entrance but there was melancholy in his solemn eyes of indigo. 

“Are you ready?” she asked him evenly, Rhaenys’s small hand clambering onto Elia’s larger one. The princess was dressed in a marvelous dress of lavender, enhancing the already-present beauty of her eyes. 

“Yes,” The king nodded. Lyanna would not be joining them, Elia had already spoken with the wolf-queen regarding that. 

_“I know what you are here to say,” Lyanna told her fellow queen evenly, dressed in another one of those horribly warm cotton gowns. Elia wondered if the only thing keeping Lyanna from donning other ones were the pride of not wanting to ask for it, but enduring. “It is alright, I’d never have presumed to join. It would be tasteless of me, knowing how I’ve pained them. It is different for Rhaegar, I suppose. He is king, he must be there, to see the victims of war but having me join would be akin to spitting in their faces and I’ve no wish to do that. I despise myself enough for what happened as it is.” Lyanna’s clarity regarding the situations took Elia aback for a few moments. The wolf-girl had thought of this, she realised. And for once, they felt more like equals, than one woman chiding another._

***

“Thank you for having us,” Elia told a woman with straw-blonde hair and green eyes that looked kind. There were children behind her, three of them— two boys and one girl. 

“No, thank you, My Queen,” the woman smiled slightly, “For having us in your thoughts,” she explained, seeming nervous as her pale fingers toyed with the hem of her braided belt. 

“Of course you would be in my thoughts. Uncle Lewyn must’ve loved you dearly and you are kin of mine, now.” That made the children giddier, she noticed, to be kin with a queen and the future rulers of the realm. _It is an empty glory,_ she wanted to tell them, _there is more than meets the eye and sometimes… I wish I had your simple life._

“Now who are these?” The Dornishwoman asked, referring to the children, _well… The boys are nearly men, are they not._ All the children had their mother’s hair and Lewyn’s slightly darker skin of a Dornishman. 

“That is Martyn,” the woman pointed to the oldest boy but let out a small laugh, “Oh, forgive me. I’ve not told you my name. I am Maryl Sandshore.” _Ah,_ Elia realised, _the legitimate child of a bastard. They’re allowed to have something added to their name, to signify their truebirth._

“You have a pretty name,” Elia replied gracefully. 

“My Queen is too kind,” the woman flushed, “And as I said; this is Martyn, he is soon to be six-and-ten.” The boy was tall and had the look of her uncle, golden eyes and a broad smile as he greeted her. “Then we have Trentyn, he’s two-and-ten, recently celebrated.” The younger boy looked more like his mother than Lewyn. _He has her nose and lips and is the palest out of all. But the eyes are the same, they are my uncle’s._

“Pleased to meet you, Trentyn,” Elia grinned, thinking perhaps Viserys would’ve gotten along with this one. 

“And lastly we have Lynesse.” The girl was as pretty as her mother but all of them had her uncle Lewyn’s eyes, “She is ten.” 

“Don’t you look sweet as summer?” Queen Elia beamed, reaching out to stroke the girl’s cheek, “You will be a great beauty.” 

“Thank you, My Queen,” Lynesse mumbled shyly.

Rhaegar stood silent beside his wife as she spoke. _He will have time to do it later._ Her husband was ever quiet when the melancholy was with him. 

“And dare I ask your age? You look not a day over twenty-and-five to me.” 

“Now you are too generous with your numbers, Your Grace,” the woman laughed, “I fear you shall need to add another ten years to that.” 

After a little bit of smalltalk, Maryl invited them inside the holdfast to sup. The journey had taken them an hour or two, so Elia felt quite famished and figured that the children did too. 

“Oh Rhaenys, where are our manners?” she asked her daughter as they began entering the dining room, “We’ve not properly introduced you two.” She looked to Aegon as well, who was holding his father’s hand, standing shyly, “And where is your charming little smile, sweetling?” The Dornishwoman asked her son. 

“I am Rhaenys,” the princess grinned as the children of Prince Lewyn took their seats, Aegon remained by his father and demanded to sit in Rhaegar’s knee. Ever soft of heart when it came to his family, the king obliged his prince of a son. 

“It is an honor to meet you, princess,” the oldest spoke and then Lynesse began gushing of how precious the princess was, just like her cousins had. 

“Now introduce yourself, Aegon,” she told her son but he hid his face in his father’s tunic, babbling unintelligibly. 

“Do as your mother says,” Rhaegar chuckled, kissing the top of the prince’s head. Slowly but surely, the toddler did just so.

“Aegon.” 

“Yes, well that seems like all we’ll be getting out of him, as of now. Do not fret, he will warm soon enough.” 

“And my name is Rhaegar Targaryen, now that we are introducing ourselves,” her husband said with a soft smile, stroking Aegon’s back. 

“Your Grace,” all of the children echoed alongside their mother. They seemed to chill, though. 

After that, Maryl placed freshly-baked bread atop the table, alongside a plate of a few pastries. Then she placed a pot of stew, rice and ale atop the table and bid them all to eat. 

“This is lovely,” Elia murmured, taking a bite of the stew that was slightly sweet and savory at the same time. 

“I am overjoyed it is to your liking,” Maryl grinned, then her green eyes seemed to water as she gazed upon the prince. 

“Forgive me,” the woman murmured, “But they are lovely at that age. A shame I will not experience it again. He’s a sweet and charming boy, your son. As is your daughter.” 

“You’ve made a nice life for yourselves here,” Rhaegar chimed in, “It seems peaceful.” 

“It is,” Maryl agreed rigidly, “But terribly empty at times.” 

“My sincerest sympathies for your…” the king faltered, clearing his throat “For Ser Lewyn, he fought valiantly and honorably, you must know. A true knight until the end.” 

“Forgive me, My King,” Maryl smiled tearfully, “But I’d rather he’d have fought cowardly and lived to return to us.” 

“Yes,” Martyn, the oldest agreed, warm eyes turning cold as he analyzed the king, “I’d rather have a coward for a father than an honorable and dead one, Your Grace” 

“And for that, I am truly sorry,” Rhaegar said, frowning, “He was a great man.” 

“Yes, he was,” Maryl agreed. 

Then, they continued supping— and after that, they chose to indulge the princess’s whim in searching for seashells by the shore. 

“Mama look,” Rhaenys said, showing her mother a large seashell that she’d acquired. 

“You know,” Elia smiled, briefly turning to see Lynesse playing with Aegon, all the while speaking with Rhaegar, blushing at every word the king said. “They say that if you put it to your ear, the sounds of the sea is in them.” Lavender eyes grew wide.

“For true?” the earnestness of the princess made Queen Elia laugh. 

“You will not know if you do not try, sweetling.” Duly, the girl put it to her ear and gasped.

“Gods, it does, mama!”

Maryl was standing and observing the scene in front of her and the Dornishman decided to join the woman. 

“So where did you come across my uncle?” Maryl smiled softly as a glaze of nostalgia seemed to cover her. 

“At the market, of all places. I was a young girl of seven-ten and he was there, in his white cloak of silk and a breezy tunic. He looked so comely that I thought I should surely perish, faint or something of the sort.” That made Elia giggle sweetly. 

“How intriguing.” 

“I was there with my mother who was selling items she’d acquired from the Free Cities, she was Braavosi,” Maryl explained, “And we remained there for the duration of five days. Each day, he’d have an excuse to pass my table, always buying some useless piece of jewelry or bowl or bottle. Of course he’d pay far too much than the items were worth and conveniently disappeared before I had the time to give him back what was owed.” 

“How sneaky of him,” Elia mumbled, eager to hear more of the tale and the kind of man her uncle had been to others. 

“Then he came by as we were packing away on the fifth day and asked my name. I told him it was Maryl and he replied that it was as comely as I. My mother stood in awe at the sides, for she knew that he was a prince and also a Kingsguard. Then, my mother left to greet a friend and he asked to see me again. I must confess the thought excited me, he was handsome and kind and chivalrous, older by five years or so but it did not matter.” 

“What did you do?” Elia breathed, the woman turning toward her with a shy smile, clouded by the sadness in the lines of her face. 

“I leaned in, telling him to meet me by the shore close to where I lived, at midnight. And so, he did. We spent the night gazing at the stars and I confessed that I thought I was falling in love with him. He told me that he could never be my husband, or hold me at all times of the year, or give me what a true man should,” the woman faltered, green eyes glassy, “But that he would make sure I had a comfortable life and care for me as best he could. We were rash, I confess— planning such after only a night in each other’s company but it felt like a fever dream. As if I did not take the chance, it would evade my grasp forevermore.” 

“I see why he was so taken by you,” Elia murmured, gently stroking the woman’s arm in a comforting manner— as if to show Maryl was not alone in her pains. 

“I loved him, I did,” the blonde woman’s voice cracked, “And two years later, I birthed Martyn. I became with child the second time he visited, the year after our first meeting. Some would think the love would’ve waned, that it was only lust and infatuation but I loved him as fiercely as before. He did not meet Martyn until our son was a year old.”

“It must have been so difficult,” the Dornishwoman sympathised, “To see him so sparsely.”

“It was, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world. I will never love another man. Once you’ve had someone like Lewyn… Anything other than him would be settling. No, no. I will care for our children and watch them grow. They remind me of him each day and it will have to be enough. One day; I will be returned to him, but it is not today.” 

The words caused the Dornishwoman’s throat to tighten and she realised how unjust it was for her uncle to die. _He fought for us, he went to battle for my children and I’s sakes, as well as duty. It is not right,_ but when had the world ever cared about what was right or not? 

“They are good children,” Elia murmured, “And it is a tragedy that my uncle will never see them grow into men and women.” 

“It is,” Maryl agreed, taking the Dornish queen’s hand in a shared solidarity as they gazed upon the future of the world. 

Once dusk fell, it was time to leave but they’d all had a splendid time— Even though the oldest of the children and their mother did not truly warm to Rhaegar, they treated him with the courtesy that a king demands. Lynesse seemed in awe of the Dragon-king and his children, most like never having seen such eyes and hair before, or beauty. _She is a blushing little maiden and her heart is pure, I wish for it to remain as such._

When they said their goodbyes, Elia told them that they must come to the feast that would be held for Aegon and Rhaenys’s nameday the following week, to which the family was all-too happy to do. They were good people, honest ones. She could see why her uncle had chosen Maryl. There was a beauty to the simplicity of the woman, she came with no thorns or prickliness. There was a light that seemed to just disperse from the woman of Sandshore and it warmed Elia, truly. 

That night when she laid in her bed, she turned to gaze upon the silvery moon through her window and prayed that wherever her uncle was, he’d found peace. That he was watching over his family, to witness them grow in harmony. The children were promising things and Elia promised to keep in touch with Maryl, greatly valuing the woman’s company. _Perhaps they would like it at Sunspear,_ but she figured that Doran had already made that offer. 

_Maybe peace and quiet by the sea is all they crave._

_It truly sounds like a beautiful dream of a life._

One Elia could never personally have, but that was what dreaming was for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lollll sorry for being a clickbaity bitch in the summary, it was very evil of me but I've always wanted to try clickbait and the opportunity was too ripe. Hope y'all can forgive me *hides in the corner*
> 
> <3


	17. Now, all is shattered.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My Queen,” Ser Jaime said, looking more lost than found.  
> “Ser Jaime,” Elia turned around to greet the knight on her way inside her chambers.  
> “I just,” he swallowed, clearing his throat, “Wanted to wish you a joyful nameday.” His smile looked unsure. It broke her heart to think of how close they had been before Storm’s End. She wondered why their relationship had broken apart like a fragile castle made out of sand-- ravaged by some minor gust of wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see but I'm back (albeit a little later than anticipated) with a new chapter!  
> I've been absolutely swamped at school and could barely find the time to write this, which means it has barely been proof-read or edited. 
> 
> I had my birthday last week and can't believe I began this story in the midst of my sixteens and am nowhere near finished and have turned seventeen. On the plus side: I can listen to "Seventeen" By Alessia Cara and finally like be able to relate (?) I jammed to that shit at like fourteen, it's been a long time coming. 
> 
> Christmas break is rolling around the corner so there'll probably be an update in the forseeable future.
> 
> Anyway: Sorry for the long note and I hope you enjoy the chapter. Don't forget to leave a kudos if you enjoyed it and a comment down below (Because they're my sustenance for life. :)

A few days into the fortnight that they’d spent in Dorne, a great feast was thrown to celebrate Elia and her children’s namedays. They were all quite close in time, therefore she’d proposed that they make one big celebration of it, for too many would be draining and she wished for them to enjoy the peaceful nature of her homeland. Away from all the rambunctious sounds, vanity and grandeur of the capital. 

The princess turned five years of age, Prince Aegon two and Elia herself turned two-and-seven. Most noble lords and ladies of Dorne attended, to greet and cheer for their old princess and her children, the future of the realm. It had been a pleasant feast and for the first time in a long time, Elia felt surrounded by people whose love she did not doubt. Whose loyalty she knew was hers, not the Targaryen King’s or the wolf-queen’s. 

Not much remained to be said, except that it was a joyous gathering and even Oberyn proved less hostile toward Rhaegar and Lyanna, for it was a day that belonged to his sister, his niece and nephew. The Red Viper did not wish to spoil the mood and sour the sweetness. That night had made the Dornishwoman feel almost young again. Almost happy. Almost as if she’d not been marked by grief and choked by scorn. 

Ser Jaime had made an attempt to get back into her good graces and Elia dearly missed the Lannister knight’s company, how he refreshed her soul and made her feel as if she was truly living. Yet the Gods did not seem to share that sentiment, for they kept separating the Dornish Queen and her daughter’s sworn shield. So many people demanded her attention and she wanted to get her fill of her kin, _before I’ll have to say goodbye for an indefinite amount of time._

_“My Queen,” Ser Jaime said, looking more lost than found._

_“Ser Jaime,” Elia turned around to greet the knight on her way inside her chambers._

_“I just,” he swallowed, clearing his throat, “Wanted to wish you a joyful nameday.” His smile looked unsure. It broke her heart to think of how close they had been before Storm’s End. She wondered why their relationship had broken apart like a fragile castle made out of sand-- ravaged by some minor gust of wind._

_“Thank you, Jaime,” The Dornishwoman smiled softly, wanting to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. To feel the cold steel of his gilded armor caress her fingers, to know he was truly there._

_“I’ve a gift for you,” he said suddenly, emerald eyes alight with something she could not quite name._

_“You do?” Queen Elia asked, recovering from her slight shock, “You needn’t have commissioned me a gift, kind ser.”_

_“I had it made,” He confessed, “With the help of your daughter.”_

_“Rhaenys had a part in this?” she found herself smirking, “Of course she did.”_

_“Could we speak later, My Queen?” Elia liked the way his voice sounded, it was deep but gentle, tender with a slight rasp on the occasion._

_“I-”_

_“-I miss your company,” he admitted quickly, a flush creeping up his handsome face. It reminded her of how young a man the knight truly was, “You help me escape.” He helped her do the same, as well._

_“You were the one who distanced yourself, Jaime,” she replied softly and the knight frowned, dark lashes spilling across his cheeks._

_“I know,” he murmured a sounded wroth with himself, “And I wish I never had. But there are things that you know naught of, My Queen. Matters that haunt and vex me. Storm’s End woke their dormant ghosts-- You would sleep sounder if you were never made aware to them.”_

_“You should have allowed me to form that conclusion, myself, Ser.”_

_Suddenly she thought back to the dream she’d had, weeks past. The memory caused a blush to heat her cheeks and she felt betrayed by her own body. By her own heart. By her own soul._

_“I-” Ser Jaime began urgently but a voice drowned his voice out._

_“-Elia,” Oberyn called, “I’ve been searching for you, will you aid me in the act of telling Princess Rhaenys that she cannot find stray kittens and bring them into her chambers to care for?”_

_“She’s been what?” the Dornishwoman asked her brother, turning to Jaime with an apologetic look._

_“We will speak later, My Queen.”_

Today they were in the Water Gardens, but only Oberyn, Ellaria and Lyro accompanied the king and his queens this time. Doran’s gout had sprouted rather horribly and he had to decline. Mellario claimed an indisposition as well. _I hope he will feel in better spirits for supper, later._

As Elia turned to gaze at her husband, she noted his skin had tanned prettily, giving him a similar complexion to her own beige one. His hair looked to be more silver and the indigo eyes more ethereal than usual. Lyanna on the other hand had not been so fortunate. _Poor thing,_ the Dornishwoman found herself thinking, _stuffing herself into those woolen gowns._ The wolf-girl’s skin had not tanned, but reddened, no matter how much she tried to shield herself from the sun. In fact, the young woman’s cheeks were scarlet and she seemed almost faint. 

“Lyanna?” Elia called, earning a questioning look from Oberyn, whom she disregarded. The Northerner did not seem to hear her fellow queen, so she repeated herself. “Lyanna?” 

“Yes?” the she-wolf of Winterfell replied breathlessly, with glazed, grey eyes. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Oh, yes. Quite alright.” The Dornishwoman did not believe her and even Rhaegar had turned his attention upon them both. 

“Do you wish for water, Lyanna?” The king frowned, “Mayhaps going inside for a rest would be prudent?” _Yes, he is quite right._ Elia had seen this affliction before, with people who were all-but strangers to the fierce climate of Dorne. _She needs to eat properly, dress accordingly and drink copious amounts of water for it to recede._

“Come along,” the Dornishwoman stood up and reached a helping hand toward Lyanna. “I will help her inside, you can continue watching the children,” she told her husband. The wolf-queen had no defiance left in her and obeyed, taking Elia’s arm and walking inside the great building. Elia guided them toward her old rooms there, the ones she would use when she stayed for the eves. 

“Fetch me a tankard of water and a damp cloth,” she bid a servant who scurried away to obey the orders. Then, she turned to look at Lyanna who’d seated herself by the side of the bed, breathing softly with her eyes closed. Her forehead looked damp and the Northerner seemed to be positively sweltering in that thick, woolen gown. _I must have a few old gowns in here, one of them is bound to fit._ With that thought, she moved to open the oaken closet and breathed a sigh of relief when she found that it had a few Dornish gowns hanging neatly. _They look new, I do not recall them from my adolescence._

“The prince had a few o’those made when he heard of your coming. Said you’d might like to stay as you would when you was younger,” the servant relayed, once the old woman had returned with the water and damp cloth. _Good._ Quickly, Elia chose a green one for Lyanna, made of silk, with thin straps at the shoulders and two high slit by the thighs. _It’s quite plain but it’ll have to do._

“Here,” Elia handed the pale woman the soft, green bundle of silk.

“Won’t they take it as a slight? Me donning Dornish garments knowing the grief I’ve caused its people?” _Is this why she’s refrained from doing so earlier?_

“Is that the reason why you have continuously chosen to don those _dreadfully_ hot gowns of cotton?” Queen Elia questioned sharply, brown eyes peering into an abyss of grey. 

“Will they?” Lyanna asked again, looking down at her clasped hands. 

“There is no achieving perfection, Lyanna,” Elia began softly, “There are always those who will find faults and then those who will find positive aspects. You will always be damned if you do and damned if you do not. That is the way of our world.” 

“I see,” the young woman murmured and Elia felt a strange tug on her heart, like a hand squeezing sharply to awaken the softness beneath the hard walls of stone. _She pitied Lyanna. Maybe I have since the dawn of time._

“So to answer your question. Yes, some will take it as a slight. Just as some already take it as a slight that you’ve not participated in certain Dornish customs and shunned the clothing.”

“I just want to do this right but no matter how I twist and turn, it ends up all _wrong.”_ Those words resonated with Elia, who had known the scorn and false flattery of the capital, where people were not quite what they seemed. 

“There is no doing everything right. Believe me, I have tried.” She paused for a breath, “And queens are scrutinized more than most. Do not jeopardize your health because you are at a crossroad. The gown will _not_ make you Dornish, if that is what you fear.” 

“There is _nothing_ wrong with being Dornish,” Lyanna said and the words sounded sincere, as did the solemn grey of her eyes, “I would never want you to think there is. That is not why I-” 

“-It is alright, you needn’t explain,” the Dornishwoman replied, for the topic made her weary, “Some will find faults in everything, even if there are none to be found. Dwelling on it will not make us any the wiser. Or happier.” The Northerner nodded and then proceeded to ask if Elia could help unlace the back, to which she agreed. 

After that, the Dornish queen busied herself with walking around the chamber as Lyanna dressed. _I must have been five-and-ten the last time I was here._ The memories were so close that she could almost touch them, but every time she tried, they evaporated to dust right before her eyes. _Some doors are meant to be left unopened, to spare us from the grief. To spare us from the longing._

Once a few moments had passed, Elia returned to her fellow queen, who was now dressed in emerald. 

“It feels better, does it not?” 

“It’s not as constricting,” Lyanna smiled, but then her eyes began brimming with tears as she gazed at herself next to the Dornishwoman in the long, oval mirror. 

“Is something amiss?” Elia asked, frowning, “Is the gown not to your taste?”

“It is,” The Northerner replied and fiercely wiped away a stray tear that had fallen from her eyes. 

“Then why are you weeping?” That caused the young woman to frown and shake her head. 

“I do not know how to put it into words,” she faltered, “And mayhaps I should not even speak it, for the words will surely sound vain, however I try to arrange them.” That peaked Elia’s curiosity _, but do they not say that it killed the cat? Most of the words that come out of young men and women’s mouths sound vain, for what are the young, if not that? Adulthood is humbling and rarely kind._

“Try,” Elia said evenly, “You must be able to make people understand. Confuse them and they will like as not become averse to your presence.” 

“That is it,” Lyanna cried, _“Everyone_ is averse to my presence.” _You are being a tad too dramatic, child, but those who are blessed with youth often are. When one is young, the love is always wilder. The pain is always fiercer, the grief more choking._ Elia did not think of herself as young in her heart. She felt as seasoned as an old crone. _I simply do not look it._ But was that not what men loved? _A hopeless woman, beautiful when crowned in her grief._

“That is not true,” Elia replied and it was no lie. She had learned to accept Lyanna’s presence, to engage with her, _just as I did Rhaegar. I bear her no malice, was I a crueler woman I would have._ But Elia Martell was not a cruel woman and sometimes she pondered whether that was destined to always lead her to the path of misery. 

“But it is,” Lyanna said, “I am not well-liked here and I understand, believe me. I fault no one for it.” Tears were streaming down the young woman’s face and she decided to sit down, breathing hard, “But even though you are kind and honest with me, I’ve _burdened_ you with my presence. I’ve caused you such grief and sometimes I lay awake and wonder why you’ve not had me murdered yet. Cersei Baratheon surely would have. I am a _constant_ taint upon you.” 

“I am not Cersei Baratheon,” Elia said evenly and Lyanna looked at her through tear-stained eyes. _It is true what they say. Grief makes everyone lovelier._

“No, you are not,” she agreed, “You are the closest thing to perfect I’ve come across.” Elia thought of Jaime and her dreams. Arthur who’d taken her maidenhead and sworn to love her. How treacherous her heart behaved on the occasion. 

A harsh laugh escaped her lips, “I am _truly_ not.” 

_“Everyone_ adores you.” _King’s Landing never did. Aerys never did. Clearly; Rhaegar never did or he would not have ran away with you._ “You are beautiful and not even the rising sun could be your equal when you’re in your mirth,” the Northerner continued, “The true queen of the realm and everyone sees it. But that is not enough, you are kind and gentle, even to those who are not deserving of it.” The words proved to make Elia equal parts flattered and weary. _I am not so perfect as everyone thinks I am. If only they knew, if only they knew._

“You see only the surface. One must look deeper to unfold the things that lay hidden.” It did not seem like the Northerner truly heard her words. Instead, Lyanna continued, as if all her woes were simply pouring out of her and she could not stop. 

“And he _loves_ you,” she said, so sadly. Like a young girl who’d come to the realisation that love was a concept for mummers, pretty poets and singers only. 

“Rhaegar is not a man who can _truly_ love, Lyanna.” He’d given it all to his prophecies, _leaving the rest of us lacking._ The wolf-girl turned large and eyes the color of a sorrowful grey upon the Dornishwoman and shook her head. “He loves you and there’s something in his eyes, each time he gazes upon you. A man looked at me like that once but it was _not_ Rhaegar and _never_ here,” she shook her head. Elia idly wondered if that was the way she looked at Jaime or even Arthur. Along with _Rhaegar, once._

“It is _familiarity_ that you see. Ours was an arranged marriage. We spent years on Dragonstone, we grew more acquainted with each day that passed. Therefore I can say that I know him better than most but it will _never_ be enough. No one truly knows Rhaegar Targaryen or his mind.” 

“Mayhaps,” Lyanna allowed with a shrug, “But it is _also_ love. Fire. Not the pity he gazes at me with, on those occasions where we meet long enough to converse.” 

“He spends most his eves with you,” Elia replied evenly and sat down. _He only comes to mine on the occasion. It was you he took and me he left._ Though the Dornishwoman knew that it was not so simple. _If only it was, mayhaps we’d all be saner for it._ Alas, no. It had all been too muddled by prophecies and lust and dangerous matters that tore the realm apart-- Until it was naught but a sorrowful wasteland filled with unquiet ghosts that shrieked at the mere touch. _Even we are ghosts,_ she pondered, _walking in these cracked halls of stone. Trying to mend ourselves and make it whole._

“Yes, but he is not _truly_ there,” Lyanna said, “And he treats me more like his younger sister than his wife.” A wry, harsh laugh with no mirth to it suddenly made its way to the Northerners lips, “Wait, he does not. Because the Targaryens fuck those.” _There is more to life than that, sweetling. Yet she is in those years, she wishes to feel loved and valued and wanted. Rhaegar started a war for her and those damned prophecies but discarded her as soon as he won it. Of course it does not sit well with her romantic heart._ Elia had since long given up her romantic illusions of love and how it is beautiful. _All it has proved to be is undutiful._

“I can not help you with this matter,” Elia replied honestly, “It is Rhaegar whom you will need to address.”

“He treats me as if I am made of glass and bound to break.” _But you are, child,_ “And it’s the blandness, the way it feels like it does not even matter whether I am with him or not that irks me.” That was the first time the Dornishwoman had seen Lyanna truly wroth. _Rhaegar Targaryen has that effect on women._ Her cheeks were scarlet and the grey eyes sharp. 

“You understand that the reason he ran away with you was for the prophecies, those wretched, mad things?” Elia asked and that caused Lyanna to sadden again, for that was what the king’s prophecies had done to all. _Saddened them. Killed them. Buried them._ It had twisted them all beyond recognition. “He may have been fond of you but like I’ve said time upon time: Our husband is not truly capable of the love one hears in songs and poems. Do not disillusion yourself that he is.” 

“I was young and foolish,” the woman faltered, gently placing her hand on Elia’s and turning to look upon her sister-wife with such young eyes that it disconcerted the Dornishwoman. “But I should have known it in my heart, shouldn’t I?” 

“All of us remained blind when it suited us. When it hurt far too fiercely to see the truth,” Elia pondered and felt Lyanna rest her head against her shoulder. The act did not prove to anger the Dornishwoman or make her wroth. _Even our worst enemies are human and I pity her. She has much to learn._

“If you want Rhaegar’s attention, do not ask. Take it.” 

Then she thought of golden hair with sparkling emeralds for eyes and wondered…

_Should I not take my own advice?_

***

They were now almost three weeks into their stay in Dorne and for the past two days after the incident in the Water Gardens, Elia had barely seen Rhaegar. It seemed as if he spent every moment he was able, with Doran. _Making plans, I suppose. For the future of the realm._ It had not bothered the Dornishwoman, for she spent her time with Oberyn, Lyro, Ellaria and her children. She would invite Lyanna along as well, on the occasion. 

To Elia’s surprise, Lyanna had completely discarded her cotton gowns for the Dornish fashion and seemed to be in better spirits than she had been in a long time. The Dornish maester had given the Northerner an ointment that would prevent a severe sunburn, which led Lyanna to flush with youth, not pain. 

There had still not been an apt moment to speak alone with Ser Jaime, for she was ever surrounded by people who demanded her attention. _Rhaegar, Rhaenys, Oberyn, Aegon, and so on it goes._ She was not complaining by any means, only slightly vexed by not finding a proper moment to sit down and speak with the knight, for she was ever curious as to what he would say. 

The children thrived most of all in Dorne and dearly loved their cousins. Rhaenys and Tyene grew closest but Arianne came a close second. Aegon took to the quiet Quentyn, so did Aemon. Viserys would spend time with his niece and nephews but developed a fondness for trailing Doran like a little shadow, learning and emulating. He was a clever thing. The Targaryen prince also enjoyed sparring with Prince Oberyn and developed such a carefree nature that it brought tears to the Dornishwoman’s eyes. _Viserys deserves to feel free, to be happy. He deserves this, they all do._

On the eve of that day, after she’d spent it with the children, Elia Martell retired to her chambers, light of heart. It had been a lovely morn, with the sun high up in the cloudless sky. They’d taken Rhaenys, Viserys and Oberyn’s children out to ride the young sandsteeds. Of course they were not fully grown, but broken in enough to carry children. Rhaenys had loved it and exclaimed that it felt like she had a dragon of her own and was flying. Viserys had replied that mayhaps they would find an egg on Dragonstone and that it would hatch for her. The idea proved to delight the princess, even though Elia knew there were no dragon eggs that were not pretty stones to be had. 

Once inside her chambers, she quickly donned a pale violet shift and sat by the vanity, brushing out her soft, brown curls until they fell in large ringlets beneath the small of her back. Then, the Dornishwoman moved to the bookshelf and gathered a volume regarding the lovers of Nymeria of the Rhoyne. _Her last husband was a Dayne, if I recall correctly. That one; she wed for love._ There had been another Dornish princess who’d wished to wed a Dayne, too. Alas; that was a much sadder story. 

The volume was quite intriguing and proved to humanise the great warrior queen even more but some excerpts were quite salacious and quite obviously exaggerated. However, it proved a good read, nonetheless and after a few cups of wine, she began to find it quite amusing as well. That was when she heard quiet voices beyond the wooden door of her chambers and the knob twisting, allowing it to open. 

It was her husband and he wore a broad smile on his handsome face, long hair in a braid. 

“I asked Ser Jonothor if you had company but he said that you were all alone. Are you laughing with the ghosts, My Queen?” 

“Yes,” she played along, winking and putting the volume down on the table beside her, “They are very amusing, I shall have you know.” 

“What do they say?” he asked, indigo eyes twinkling as he walked toward her. 

“That I am wed to a buffoon,” she claimed dramatically, reaching her right leg out and stopping the man in his tracks by placing her dainty foot on his chest. Warm hands circled her ankle, softly caressing. 

“Is that so?” Elia giggled and nodded at the question. “And why will you not allow me further passage?” 

“Because,” the Dornish queen smirked, “Mayhaps I simply want to admire my view from here.” Her thoughts seemed to drift to another man, however and it made her feel strange, and Rhaegar’s silvery hair turned more gold. _It cannot be. It cannot be. It cannot be. Let the thoughts go. Let them be ghosts._

“You look beautiful,” Rhaegar said evenly as he moved his hands further up her ankle, to her knee and then thighs. 

“And you look like one of those comely, Valyrian courtesans that the free cities boasts plenty of.” The wine had muddled her senses, she did not mean to say the words out loud, only to think them. It felt pleasant to not think, though. It made her feel young. 

“Unfortunately; I am a king,” he murmured and leaned forward to place soft kisses up the side of her leg, “Valyrian though, if it proves a comfort,” he offered. _Does it?_ She wondered. Arthur was a man of the Rhoynar and he had been comforting enough to her as a girl. That left only the Andals. _I’ve never had an Andal._

With that, she leaned back into the armchair and slowly withdrew her leg, earning a questioning glance from that husband of hers. 

“I told you,” the Dornishwoman shrugged, “I want to look.” 

“Then I shall speak,” he retaliated, smiling slightly. 

“And that you may,” she exhaled and stretched like a cat, “But first…” 

“What?” he asked, chewing on his bottom lip. 

The Dornish queen took her time before replying, leaning to refill her goblet with Arbor Gold. Then, she took a sip and watched as the king grew ever more puzzled, raising an eyebrow. Elia drained the goblet in one sip, placed it on the table and clasped her hands. With a velvety voice she spoke with such a light tone that one may have thought she was speaking of the weather. “Take of your clothing.” 

“Me?” The king asked, silver-gold strands framing his ethereal face. 

“Well, it is not one of my sweet ghosts,” she snorted. Without a word, Rhaegar nodded and began unlacing is tunic, quickly discarding it and showing his muscled chest, but it was no longer pale. _The sun of Dorne has bent him to its will._ Like she had molded to his touch, once upon a distant time.

Her husband leaned forward to kiss her but she shook her head. “You wished to speak. Speak.” Then, Elia rose an eyebrow, “And remove the rest of your clothing as well, while you are at it.” That caused Rhaegar to chuckle. 

“I might get terribly cold, though. Will you not warm me, wife?” 

“Dorne is warm enough,” she shrugged and motioned for him to continue. 

“Well then,” her husband allowed, beginning to unlace his breeches, “I wanted to plead your forgiveness.” _Some things will never be forgiven, husband. Yet I sense that they are not what you are asking to be pardoned for._

“For what?” Her fingers were idly drumming on her exposed thigh and she noted that Rhaegar’s eyes followed their every movement. 

“I’ve been quite absent these past few days but it was for a reason.” 

“And what may that be?” she breathed, pretending as if his answer would have held any sort of value to her. In truth: the Dornishwoman had barely felt it. _He’d been absent for a year last time, days mean little in comparison to such._

“Because I have been engaging in serious discussions with your brother, regarding the future of the realm and more importantly; the future of the relations between the crown and Dorne.” She knew that he’d been with Doran. _It is not like it was kept a secret._

“House Targaryen and house Martell,” she said, understanding fully even though she’d had more than her fill of wine. “Betrothals.” 

“Yes,” he smiled and for once; was free of his melancholy, “My clever queen.” Rhaegar had discarded all of his garments by now and when he moved forward to kiss her, the Dornishwoman smiled and shook her head, to his frustration. 

“No one said you could touch,” she chided and earned a groan. 

“You will be the death of me.” 

“If _only_ you were so lucky,” she retaliated, but after a few moments, she relented and beckoned him forward with the flick of her finger. 

His lips were warm and inviting, the hair soft and mussed from her hands constantly pulling on it. Gently, the king lifted his Dornish queen up into his arms and walked the short distance to her bed, where he laid her amongst the feathered pillows. Then, his lips were on her throat and his hands drifted across her body in such a fervent way that one would have thought him possessed. There was fire in his veins and wine in hers, some would argue it made the most compatible collision of all. 

“J-Yes,” she gasped when he was inside her and wondered what word it was that she was to say in the first place. _One better not to mention._ Rhaegar moved like a man with a purpose, his lips burning, bruising and caressing her skin so pleasantly. His hands gripped her thighs but the aching pain quickly turned sweet with pleasure and when she wrapped her legs around his waist, strong hands drifted to cup her face.

She wondered if this was the only way to _truly feel,_ for the likes of them. The ones who had been bruised by duties, maimed by war and betrayal and fear. Broken people, fraying at the hems. _He made us like this, but_ _they_ _made him like that._ She wondered who she thought of when her mind said _‘they’. Was it the prophecies? Was it being born a Targaryen amidst blood and grief? His father’s progressing madness? Or perhaps a concoction of all three._ Then, those warm hands drifted away and made the sides of the bed their resting place. 

His face was so close to hers, lips parted in the crook of her neck, warm breaths caressing her skin. Those loose strands of silver-gold tickled her cheek and she could almost visualise the look on his face. It grew so familiar to her on Dragonstone and familiarity never truly leaves oneself. _He is frowning with bliss, to be sure, indigo eyes closed._ Elia had always loved the way he sounded, not too lewd and not too indifferent. He would groan softly and the sounds came from the back of his throat, barely escaping his lips. It proved no less enticing now. He had changed in so many ways and so had she-- But _here,_ they would always stay the same and was that not a comforting prospect? 

“Tell me,” she heard him say, lips brushing against her ear, “Tell me,” he said again. 

“What?” she asked, desperate to anchor these fleeting emotions to the shore. 

“Tell me how to make you feel,” he gasped, “How to properly love you.” _This is not the time,_ she wanted to chide. _Have we not had enough of these discussions? Do they not just make us melancholy-- Weary to our cores?_

“Don’t stop,” was all that escaped Elia’s lips. 

“I won’t,” Rhaegar promised. 

Somehow, in that moment: It was enough. Yet it would all be blown away like a gust of wind, come the morn. They were not made to be perpetual. 

_We were always fleeting._

_Like a delicate star that one cannot quite grasp._

***

“Your brother and I are engaging in discussions regarding a betrothal of Aemon,” her husband began tiredly, after their carnal indulgence. _He is so young,_ the Dornishwoman thought, _but betrothals have been made with younger children._

“To Arianne then, I assume?” Rhaegar hummed, head resting against her chest. _Arianne will rule Dorne, after Doran. A Targaryen prince and a Martell princess would be powerful. Rhaegar and I had been, once._

“She is older, which gave me pause but five years will not matter when they are grown.” 

“It is a good match,” Elia said, toying with his hair and finding herself comforted by his skin on hers.

“It is not only a good match because he is a Targaryen prince and she; a princess. It will help unite us all-- Targaryen, Stark and Martell. By marrying Aemon to Arianne, Dorne will be united with the North, as well as the crown.” _I do not know how I feel, regarding that._ Nor did the Dornishwoman know how Doran felt, or Oberyn. _Of course my eldest brother, ever the diplomatic will do this for the good of the realm. To seal the weeping wounds that just will not quite close. But Oberyn will not like it, I am sure._

“I hope this will prove a new start for us,” Rhaegar said, raising his head to meet her eyes. Elia felt tired and nodded, a sort of melancholy creeping up her bones and making her shudder. 

“Are you cold?” her husband asked, so tenderly that one would have thought them lovers in love. 

“A little,” she smiled slightly and he nodded, grabbing the thin quilt they’d somehow managed to get on the floor and placed it on top of them. 

“But you do think it is a good idea? Their difference in age should not-” he began and she shushed him. 

“-Yes, it is a good political match. It will prove to unite many great houses but are you not forgetting something, husband?” Elia gazed at the handsome man in her arms, thinking of how oblivious he could be on the occasion. 

“What?” Rhaegar asked, tracing circles into her bare skin with the pad of his thumb. 

“Lyanna,” Elia said, “Have you made her aware of this?”

“Oh,” the king said quietly. _He forgot to take her into account. It is her son._ Elia knew that Rhaegar would never dare forget to ask what his first wife would think of their children and betrothals, “We’ve not truly had the opportunity to engage in the conversation.” 

“She is Aemon’s mother,” Elia said gently, “I am not. It is her whom you will need to address.” 

“Yes,” he agreed in that thoughtful voice, then the Dornishwoman heard a soft yawn and before long; the king was asleep. 

Elia however, remained awake and the hot wine coursing through her veins had since long turned cold. Now, she wrestled with her thoughts and those wretched feelings that she could not quite name. Here, in the dark warmth of her chamber; Rhaegar belonged to her. But it was fleeting and how horrible it is when something is like that. Once dusk colored the sky a vivid orange, he would no longer be hers. He would be the realm’s. He would be the king. He would be Lyanna’s. 

Strangely, the urge to weep came upon her as she gazed upon his head, resting on her chest. His soft breaths, echoing that of the man she had dearly loved on Dragonstone. Before all the betrayal, before the pain and grief and anger. _It took me years to let go of Arthur and as soon as I love again, he falls into the arms of another._ She wanted to be _in_ love with her husband, but her heart refused, for some reason unbeknownst to the Dornish queen. Now, Rhaegar Targaryen was just a reminder of the past, just as Arthur Dayne was. _We could have been glorious,_ she thought sadly. _Now we are but a haunting memory, twisted by betrayal._

It was all simply too much and not enough-- At the same time. _I loved Arthur dearly in my youth, I grew to love Rhaegar fiercely and both destroyed me. The war did not succeed in killing me but loving did._ The Dornishwoman felt lost, she was caught in the past-- Ensnared as if in a spider’s web. Dorne brought her back to Arthur and to all that had been. Yet all that was could not be that which had to be. _I wanted to wed a man whom I loved, to grow old with him in peace. To have children whose laughs would echo off the walls. Instead I received uncertainty and fear and broken hearts._

Then there was Jaime who had allowed her to breathe. Sweet, wry Jaime with the golden hair and teasing laugh. He had brought her back to life in some strange way and made her feel alive. _He never treated me as if I was fragile._ How Elia yearned back to the time of their carefree laughs. He was a handsome, good-natured man, as if born of the sun and she wondered what it would have been, were she to have wed him instead of Rhaegar. Would they have been in this mess, or another? 

It hurt her deeply, for she was torn between the ghosts of her past and those of her present. _Can one ever truly tell them goodbye? I tried with Arthur, I thought I laid him to rest, yet he has returned to haunt me and the sad part is… that I allow him to._ Yet Jaime was younger than her, a knight of the kingsguard, only twenty years of age. They were both sworn to vows but of different kinds. _I swore to love my husband and be dutiful, he swore to hold no woman in his arms but duty._ The Dornishwoman was a queen, wife to a king. Even these thoughts were treasonous and acting upon it would cost them both their heads. 

But are hearts not treasonous, above all? It cared not for Elia’s inner strife, or how part of her loved Rhaegar still, and another, Arthur. Or how it skipped each time she saw those emerald eyes, and how she imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on hers, to share a love she would otherwise never come to know. To be someone’s _only_ one. 

_He is barely a man,_ she told herself, _and you are twice a woman. There is no youthful joy left in you any longer. I am young but sometimes I feel as old as the soil beneath my feet. I should not love him, I cannot love him. He does not love me._ The Dornishwoman tried to comfort herself yet the notion stung like snake’s venom. For the truth was that she wanted him to love her. _But we cannot. These are the lives we have been doomed to live. Mayhaps in another world: we would already have been._

Oh, how it all hurt so fiercely and without knowing it, burning tears slipped beneath Elia’s cheeks and choked her. The Dornish queen sat up half-heartedly, Rhaegar’s head now in her lap. The movement did not dull his sleep.

“I loved you once, but did you _truly_ know?” She asked her sleeping husband, his features almost angelic. Now, she was weeping for him, like she had many a time before. “And I cried for you, but like the winter snow, it seems to have bundled up inside my soul.” The Dornishwoman mustered up the strength to kiss the top of his head but she felt no control of her body. It was always betraying her these days. 

A soft frown grazed the king’s forehead but he did not wake. 

“I gave you my all,” she told him genuinely, “Heart, body and soul. But it was never enough,” Elia continued with a sad shake of her head. “It was _never_ enough.” After that, the queen remained silent, finally laying down and allowing sleep to claim her, as well-- or the tears certainly would and she did not want them. 

When she woke, the sun had barely risen in the sky and Rhaegar remained sound asleep next to her, bare-chested and entwined in the thin quilt. _His braid has come undone,_ she noted and wondered whether that had happened in his sleep, or in the throes of last eve. Quietly, Elia moved to sit up on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake her husband.

The silk curtains of the balcony flowed gently in the breeze and she saw the weak rays of the sun peeking through. _It is early, very early._ Yet the Dornish queen felt strangely awake and alert. _It has the makings of a beautiful day and I wish to go for a walk._ Elia had enjoyed walks ever since she was a young girl-- especially in Dorne. It gave her a peace of mind that was rarely felt in King’s Landing, or the unforgiving, stormy shores of Dragonstone. 

With that thought, she moved to rise and quickly donned a flowy gown of emerald and blue samite with a deep neckline. For gems she chose simplicity. A golden bracelet and a silver necklace alternating between sapphires and jade-stones. After that, Elia decided to leave her long, brown hair undone-- allowed to flow freely down the small of her back. 

When the Dornish queen was done, she stole a glance at Rhaegar who was hidden by the silky canopy. Then, she quietly exited her chambers, of course having washed her face with the rose-water in the basin. _I hope Jaime is standing guard, the queen found herself wishing, for I truly wish to speak with him. To know what his heart holds._

As if the Gods had heard her prayers, she was met by Ser Jaime’s face, once beyond the wooden door and it broke her heart to see him smile so youtfully. Like nothing could trouble him, but she knew that things did. 

“Ser Jaime,” she greeted and he responded, beaming. It was enough to cure last night’s woes.

“My Queen, what brings you here so early?” It was almost as if nothing and everything had passed betwixt them. Things remained the same… yet different. 

“I was thinking of taking a walk, would you be so kind as to escort me, Ser?” With a nod, the knight turned to his fellow soldier of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold. 

“Will you be alright here?” Jaime asked his companion. 

“I was a knight of the kingsguard _before_ your birth, I will do just fine, I reckon,” the old knight snorted gruffly but there was a softness in his weathered eyes. 

“The king is still asleep, you may notify him of my walk when he sees fit to wake, Ser.” 

“As you command, Your Grace,” the White Bull replied evenly with a slight bow. 

And so, they were on their way. 

“I know of a location by the shore. I used to sneak out there when I was a girl and the guards were never any the wiser,” the Dornishwoman shared, “The only one who ever succeeded in finding me was-” she stopped herself. _He need not know the story of you and Arthur. It is best left buried._

“Who?” he asked curiously and Elia found herself lying so easily that it seemed her lips had been made for it. 

“Oberyn,” she murmured, “Oberyn.” 

“Of course,” Jaime Lannister grinned, “Who other than the Red Viper himself?” 

“That is quite right,” she agreed but felt her chest grow heavy with her lies. _It was only a small one, a white one._ They resumed their walk in a pleasant silence and before long, they were by the hidden shore and watching as the calm waves caressed the crystal-like water. 

“It is beautiful here,” she heard her white knight say.

“It is, truly.” 

“That reminds me,” the Lannister knight said suddenly and began retrieving something from a pouch hanging by his scabbard. The sun had claimed its spot in the sky and was beating down pleasantly upon them both, though she wagered the knight was surely sweating somewhat in his thick armor. 

Elia turned to him with curious eyes that sparkled golden when the rays of the sun touched them. 

“Here,” he said shyly and handed her a bracelet made of silver, adorned with small seashells, “It is perchance somewhat late as a nameday gift, yet I could not find the proper moment to gift it to you.” It was beautiful and had to have been made by a jeweler. As if sensing her thoughts, Jaime spoke again. “The princess gave me the idea and dutifully shared her bounty of shells, even picking the ones she wished you to have out. Then, I had it delivered to a local jeweler here and he made that.”

“Jaime,” Elia said softly, “You needn’t have,” she frowned, “It looks quite expensive.” 

“Have you forgotten the statements of how my father shits gold? It was nothing. You deserve _much_ more. In fact, it is less than what you deserve but it is _something_ and from my heart. You’ve been good to me and I repaid that with rudeness and sullen silences.” 

“Jai-” she began but he shushed her and reached out to take the bracelet in her palm from her, “May I?” he asked and Elia took his meaning, reaching out her arm and allowing him to clasp it around her wrist. The tiny seashells dangled evenly in pretty shapes and colors, her eyes began to water. _Why must I be such a bleating cow?_

“Don’t weep,” he told her, smiling slightly, “It’s only a bracelet.” 

“I am not weeping,” she told him, feeling betrayed by the tear that fell, “It’s simply the fact that I was given so many gifts for my nameday, yet most were out of duty-- courtesy. They felt eerily impersonal. This bracelet, however small a gift it may be, meant something. It _means_ something.” In that moment, the knight forgot himself and wiped a stray tear from her eyes.

“I am sorry,” Jaime said and Elia knew that he meant it. 

“It is fine,” she waved off and looked down, inspecting the grains of sand beneath her sandaled feet. 

“No, it is not,” came the Lannister knight’s voice, his hand gently tilting her face upward, to meet his intricate, emerald eyes, “Nothing is-- yet that does not change anything.” 

“You are quite correct, Ser,” she smiled sadly and wanted to kiss him in that moment. She truly did. 

Instead, Elia asked him two simple questions. 

“What passed in Storm’s End, Jaime? What made you so weary?” 

“It is what passed _before_ Storm’s End,” he shrugged, “Long before.” 

“I do not take your meaning,” Elia murmured and he unclasped his white cloak, placing it on the sand for her to sit down. Then, he continued with his breastplate and joined her, gazing into the distance. 

He was nervous, she could tell by the heaving of his chest, how his cheeks were turning red and by the drumming of his hand on his knee.

“You must promise me to not pass judgement until I’ve finished my tale.” 

“Alright,” Elia nodded. _That, I can do._

“I decided upon arriving in Dorne that I do not want to keep secrets _from_ you, in order to _keep_ you. For you will never be mine if I continue telling lies.” 

“You’ve been telling me lies?” she asked and the idea made her nervous, but the knight quickly shook his head.

“No-- I mean, not the way you think. Only the matters I cannot help. Never think what I shared was a lie, it was not. I’ve only told them on the happenstance that there was no other way. Our friendship was not a lie, Elia.” He softly touched her knee and the Dornishwoman could see the sincerity bleeding out of his eyes. 

“I believe you, Jaime,” she replied gently. 

“To come to terms with the present, you must first understand the past,” he began with his hand still on her knee, as if keeping it there for comfort. As if to know she was still there, that she did not run. “My sister and I came into this world together.” 

“You were twins,” Elia chimed in and he nodded, clearing his throat-- rays of sun making his golden hair sparkle. 

“We were and close as can be. We’d shared a womb, it was only proper that we share the rest of our lives. When Cersei and I were young, barely anyone could tell us apart-- We were one entity, only whole when together.” 

The Dornishwoman made a hum to encourage him to continue his tale. 

“And we were curious, as children were. She took my first kiss and I, hers,” he shared and Elia grew slightly rigid. _Well-- Mayhaps it was only an innocent kiss._ His grip seemed to tighten at that, to hold her in place. To make her stay. 

“It continued on like that until one day, we had spied the animals in the courtyard… in their… play. We were so young and I cannot recall if it was I, or Cersei who instigated it but we wished to… to recreate it. And so, we did. My mother was pregnant with Tyrion at this point in time and a maid happened upon us.” Now, the Dornishwoman was fully rigid, quietly anticipating his next words. _Oberyn and I… we never…_ She could not quite understand, it was not right. Not right for siblings to behave that way with each other. 

“She told my mother, who in turn handsomely paid for discretion and dismissed her services. Cersei and I were sharing chambers but that came to a stop as my mother spirited her away to the other side of Casterly Rock and said that if it ever happened again, she would tell our Lord-Father. Of course, the thought made both Cersei and I shiver with fear. I do not know what my father would have done to us and I do not want to imagine it.” 

“Y-” Elia began but Jaime turned to her with apprehensive, scared eyes. 

“Don’t,” he closed his eyes as if in pain, “Do not speak or I shall surely lose whatever courage I had when deciding to tell this tale. I may _seem_ strong, but I am _not._ Please,” he begged and what could she do but nod?

With that, his tale continued. 

“Then, my mother never had the chance to make my father aware of it, for she perished giving birth to my brother. The horror and disgust on Cersei’s face as she saw Tyrion unnerved even me. They hid him deep in Casterly Rock, as you know. Cersei and I became one again, for there was no one in our vicinity who’d known what occurred. Our mother was ashes, so she told no tales.” As Elia glanced at him, she noted a few tears had strayed from his eyes and wished to wipe them away tenderly, yet she was equal parts on edge. 

“I only loved fighting and Cersei. I felt as if through my prowess, mayhaps I’d earn my father’s love. He died with my mother, I think. The redeemable parts of him,” Jaime faltered but then he resumed his thread, “Anyway, it shames me to say so, but I allowed Cersei’s cruel behavior toward my brother. I was clouded by the love I bore for her. There is a special sort of bond that forms when one has been united since birth-- it turned me blind to what she was and what she did. Tyrion did not deserve what he had to receive from my sister and father,” Jaime shook his head sadly, “He was _only_ a child whose only crime was being born.” 

All the Dornishwoman could do was look at the knight, yet he refused to meet her eyes, keeping them fixed on the cloudless sky above them. His hand was still on her knee and she could not bring herself to be so cruel as to remove it. _I do not know what to think, what to feel or say._

“Cersei was a golden flower, she grew fairer each day that passed and I felt fortunate to be able to love such a woman and to have hers in return. When you visited, I confess you were of little notice to me, blind as I was.” 

Elia remembered the young Lannister boy she had met years past, the one who loved the dagger of Oberyn’s and arm of his sister more than he did what could have been his future wife. _But I thought it all innocent… I thought he loved her the way I loved Oberyn and Doran._

“As the years passed, I fell ever more in love. I took her maidenhead and she did mine… I’ve only ever known one woman, only Cersei.” Dread washed over Elia and she shuddered, despite the heat. She tried to hide it but he knew and the Dornishwoman was aware that it must have tore at his heart. 

“That was the woman you loved?” she asked weakly, “The one we spoke of moons ago, the one who made you join the Kingsguard, the one you thought you’d be able to stay with?” 

“Yes,” her knight replied honestly, still refusing to meet her gaze. “My father had begun making plans for my betrothal to Lysa Tully and Cersei had heard of it. That night, she met me dressed as a tavern wench but had she ever looked lovelier?” The way he spoke of her, of his sister-- Lady Cersei Baratheon made Elia’s skin crawl with invisible maggots, _yet I have promised him. I swore to reserve judgement until he is done with his tale._ “I bedded her that night and she bade me to join the Kingsguard, so that we could be together-- Do you know why?” 

A cold feeling nagged in her chest. _Of course I know, I saw it in her eyes, the way she blushed like a pretty rose around my Valyrian husband._

“She thought that she would wed Rhaegar Targaryen, the future king,” Elia replied gravely. 

“Yes, she did and that meant that we would still be near each other, once he became king and she a queen.” _She was going to fuck her brother and then my husband? How would she know if the children she bore were bastards or trueborn, if they received her coloring?_

“But that did not happen,” the Dornishwoman said and she saw Jaime snort but there was no joy to his haunted smile. 

“No it did not and instead; I joined an order in which I had no urge to. I did it for her, yet she remained in Casterly Rock and I travelled to King’s Landing. I lost my name, my family, and Cersei. That hurt most of all. Then I came here and realised that I’d not been chosen for any sort of merit: but to spite my father. King Aerys had a wicked sense of humor and delighted in robbing Tywin of his heir and making me his lapdog.” That saddened Elia, almost as much as his story unnerved her. _He was a young man, filled with illusions of glory. All he received was scorn and loneliness-- serving a hollow power. He never chose this life. Neither did you,_ a voice whispered, _neither of you did._

“I loved her, you’ve no idea how _much_ I loved her. She was the rising sun and the luminescent moon-- the fairest rose in the realm. I would even have wed her in a heartbeat or ran away to the free cities so that we could. Anything she would have wished me to do, I would’ve done it without hesitation.” _Does he love her like that, still?_ Elia wondered what it was like to love someone as fiercely as Jaime loved his Cersei. 

“And you still…” Elia choked out, “Love her?” 

“She is my sister,” he said and the words stirred something in her stomach. _They are not Targaryens, they are Andals. You never rode any dragons and there is no tinge of supremacy in your blood that would allow this. Gods have mercy._

“And I love her but in Storm’s End…” Elia had to ask. I have to. 

“Did you… bed her?” If he said yes, her heart would break like it did when Arthur joined the kingsguard. Like it did when Rhaegar crowned Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty and ran away with the girl as Elia was dying after having given him a son. 

“No,” Jaime said, breathing hard, “She wished to but I-I could not.” 

“Why?” the Dornish queen asked. 

“I will get to that later, now we must return to Storm’s End.” Silently, Elia perked her ears up and listened closely. 

“In Storm’s End, I’d been weaned off of her for so long that I saw parts that had been hidden from me. How vain she was, the way she loved no one but herself. How she hated our brother so fiercely when he’d never done anything to harm her. Tyrion sought our love when we were young, you know? I despise myself for not truly giving it to him, in fear of Cersei’s wrath. I was all he had.” The white knight’s voice cracked and the hand on her knee began feeling heavy. She looked at those hands and felt queasy when thinking of what they had done. Where they had been. But then she thought of how they had also slain her mad good-father, how they had kept her and the heirs safe. They were equal parts divine and hellish. 

“The way she spoke of people, the way she spoke of you-- Even when we were children and had only just met… it proved to make my heart distance itself from hers. I saw her for what she _truly_ was, just as I was beginning to love another. My sister only wanted me because I was _of_ her. Because we were one.” _Who is he speaking of?_ Elia wondered.

“Who did you begin to love?”

“Are you jesting?” he scoffed and turned to gaze upon her with tear-stained cheeks and burning, emerald eyes. “It is _you._ ” Her heart seemed to cease beating. 

“Me?” the Dornishwoman asked incredulously, forgetting about the unholy relations with Jaime had engaged in with his sister and wondering _how_ and _why_ he came to love her. “But I am not beautiful like Cersei, nor as robust and strong. I am only a woman, maimed by war and childbirth.” 

“You are a queen and so beautiful, how do you not see?” he asked, speaking as if he could not believe the words that were pouring out of the Dornishwoman’s mouth, “And I began loving you slowly. When I saw a speck of your strength, the utter perseverance and powerful way in which you carried yourself. You would not mold for anyone, yet your heart was kind. My sister would never have been good to the woman who had stolen her husband and given him a son. Cersei would’ve had the girl poisoned and the child murdered,” He paused as if the air was not enough for his hasty words, “And you are the finest mother I have ever met. You did not look at me and see a kingslayer-- You saw me for who I was and cared about how I fared which was more than what others dared. The companionship and warmth you offered became the light of my dark days. It saved me,” he whispered, “And I love you for it. I love you so very much.” 

“You cannot,” Elia replied weakly, her mind a muddled mess, _he cannot._

“I do,” Jaime replied sincerely, his voice raw and frightened, “And I realised that my love for Cersei was not true-- it was not pure. I know this because _you are_ the sun. She only looked like it,” he shrugged. 

“Jaime, I do-” Elia began, torn between wanting to embrace the fragile knight and running away, far and wide where she could mull over what he had just told her. _It is too much, it is too much._

“-No,” he hushed her, placing a gentle, calloused hand on her bare arm, “Do not say anything at all, just stay with me. Let me forget how utterly fucked everything is for a few moments and what a mess I am. Let me pretend you love me too, if only for these short snippets of time. Please,” the knight begged her and he was weeping, crystalline tears escaping his emerald gaze. Who was Elia to deny him his comforts?

 _I do love you,_ she thought ever so sadly. It could never be but that did not make it hurt any less. She loved him but when the Dornishwoman looked to his hands, she saw them inside of his sister-- of scared Cersei Baratheon who tried to be brave like a lioness. She looked at his lips and wondered where they had been, and if Cersei knew the way he looked like when he would spend, just like Elia knew what Arthur and Rhaegar looked like. _It is not natural. The Targaryens did it because they were Valyrian but you are Andals._

And throughout it all; Elia could not hate him. She could not scorn him. For he was a young man-- disillusioned with love and honor and lies. 

“That is why I refused to bed her,” he whispered so quietly that she would not have heard it, were she not to have been so close, “Because I love you and saw her for what she was. Cersei will always be my sister and have my love but she no longer has my heart. It is yours. Do with it what you will.” 

“I need,” Elia said, trying to sound like a queen but she was breathing heavily and her mind was blurry, “I need time, Jaime, I need to think. I can’t-- I cannot breathe.” Oh, what a mess they were in now. What a right mess. 

“We should return, they are most like wondering where I am.” 

“Tell me you do not hate me, please,” the knight spoke hastily, “I know it is disgusting and I am revolted by myself but you _have_ to _believe_ me when I say that I loved her.” 

“I do not doubt you, my sweet, young knight,” the Dornishwoman replied sincerely, for she did not, “I promise I will not tell but I need time, Jaime. I need to think-- this is all too much.” 

“I love you, I do,” he breathed and his hands gripped her arms as if she was a ghost and doomed to ever evade his grasp, so he was determined to anchor her to him. “I love you,” he closed his eyes and frowned. 

_I think that I love you too._

And now that she thought of it…

Curiosity truly did kill the cat.


	18. Turn the lights down (For there is an awful ringing in my head).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shall we depart?” Ser Jaime asked after all had been said and done.  
> “Yes,” Elia murmured, “It is time.” Then, she climbed up the steps and seated herself with Rhaenys and Viserys opposite her and Aegon cuddling up against her right side. From the dainty window, she could see Oberyn waving, Rhaegar too. Lyro was smiling and so was Ellaria, yet Elia herself felt as if drowned in equal parts melancholy and longing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (reposted chapter with added content!) 
> 
> I am finally on christmas break! 
> 
> So this is more of a filler chapter before we move onto the greater things. 
> 
> Don't forget leave a comment down below (I live for them) and a kudos if you enjoyed the story!  
> Beware: this was finished in the midst of the night and thusly has not been edited and barely read through (sorry!)
> 
> Until next time,  
> <3

Two days had passed since that eventful morn where Jaime Lannister told Elia about the unsavory pieces of his past. She had made no mention of it to living or dead, man or ghost. They were actions punishable by death and even more so, Elia could not bring herself to form the words and barely knew how to, even in the silence of her chambers with naught except the chiming of the wind to accompany her. 

Her change in mannerisms had not passed unnoticed, with both Rhaegar and her brothers, along with Oberyn’s paramours asking if she was well. 

_“I am simply tired,” she told Oberyn and felt her chest ache with the pollution of lies, “It has been an eventful few weeks.” His viper’s eyes continued gazing into hers, unflinching._

_“The capital has made a good liar of you, sister,” he replied and the words were tinged with sadness, “But I’ve known you since my birth and I can tell when something is amiss.”_

_“Nothing is amiss, Oberyn,” she exclaimed, “No more than it usually is.”_

_“I remain here for you, Elia. Just as Doran does, just as Lyro and Ellaria do-- If you should ever feel the urge to lighten your heart, for these matters can swallow one alive.”_

_“I know, brother. I know,” the Dornishwoman muttered, embracing the Red Viper of Dorne and reveling in the comfort it brought upon. His presence always succeeded in making everything feel as if it was not in shambles._

Ser Jaime and Elia’s interactions remained few and there was such a peculiarity to them. They were dancing on a line around each other, never daring to get too close-- terrified of obliterating their fragile peace. In truth; the Dornishwoman distanced herself for she had naught to say and wagered that in itself would wound Ser Jaime further. Elia had not truly mulled over his words and each time she tried, it proved a great discomfort. 

_I met Cersei, I interacted with her and I pitied her. How was I to know their bond ran deeper than blood itself?_ All she saw when she thought of Jaime was him and his sister, however much she tried to make the horrible images take their leave, they refused and made her mind their home. _Did he humor her the way he does me? Did he look at her with the warmth he does me?_ How could his love for Elia stand a chance against what he spoke of having with Cersei? _It is different when you have loved someone since the moment you were birthed? He’s not known me nearly as long as he has Cersei, and she is of him._

As the Dornishwoman kept herself busy, she would of course happen upon the knight as he was her daughter’s sworn shield. During the few times they did interact in that strangely formal manner, she would catch herself gazing upon him as her imagination ran wild. 

_“If it please Your Grace, I wonder if you have considered any of the words we shared a few days past?” Jaime asked and his voice sounded so defeated and his eyes were hollow when she turned to look into their green abyss. That did nothing to dull his loveliness, however and she wondered if Cersei liked Jaime more when he was sad, angry or a perfect mirror._

_“Forgive me, Ser but I’ve been kept duly busy, as you may have noticed,” Elia replied apologetically as she looked to her children skipping along merrily beside them--Rhaenys with Dornish flowers in her hair._

_“Of course,” her white knight nodded solemnly and enclasped his lower lip with the front row of his teeth, seeming ponderous. He looked as beautiful as her husband did, only in another way and Elia found herself wondering if his lips were as soft as they looked, but all she could do was wonder. Cersei already knows, the Dornishwoman thought in dismay, she’s felt them in every crevice of her being. Yet the longing was still there, the light feeling of floating on a bed made of seafoam and clouds whenever he gazed upon her so adoringly, as if she truly was the sun. But did she come second to Cersei?_

_He told her no but men lied. Elia of all knew that._

Now, they only had a week or so left in Sunspear and Elia felt excited regarding their journey into Starfall, yet also apprehensive, for Winterfell would come next and that would most like entail problems of its own. Then they would return to the capital and she would be cut off from her loved ones, once more. The prospect of meeting Ashara and little Naella did much to increase the Dornishwoman’s yearning, though. Sweet and beautiful Ashara was a mother now, just like Elia. How time had marked them both, only ten years pas, they had been young and childless and carefree. Now: less so. 

“What shall we do today?” Oberyn asked and broke Elia out of her thoughtfulness. 

“We can sunbathe,” Lyro offered, “Let us not do anything extravagant. It is too hot a day for such.” 

“You just want all the ladies to fawn over you without decent clothing,” Oberyn smirked and the Lyseni rolled his eyes in response. 

“I agree with Lyro,” Elia chimed in, feeling the sticky heat through the light fabric of her Norvoshi gown. It was a beautiful piece that Mellario had gifted the Dornish queen for her nameday. The gown was red, with two slits by each thigh and the bust was embroidered with pretty patterns in gold. 

“As do I, the babe is making me feel lethargic,” Ellaria smiled softly, green eyes twinkling. 

“How boring the lot of you are!” Oberyn cried, “Where is your sense for adventure?” 

“Certainly not in Sunspear,” Lyro snorted which made Elia and Ellaria giggle.

“Certainly not in Sunspear,” the Red Viper mocked, causing his paramour to raise an eyebrow, “How funny you are, do stop or I shall piss my breeches.” 

“You are too prickly by far, Oberyn,” Elia yawned, “Lyro is undeserving of your temper.” 

“I think Lyro is very much aware of what he is doing,” her brother countered in a soft, dangerous voice, making the Lyseni scoff and blow the Dornishman a kiss. 

“Now he is mocking me,” Oberyn grumbled but he did not look wroth, he was only playing along in their charades because adults are only children pretending to be grown. 

“Good, mayhaps it will ground you somewhat,” the Dornishwoman said airily, adjusting the strap of her gown so that she would not be called indecent. 

“Fine, fine,” the Red Viper exclaimed at last, “Sunbathing it is.” To which Ellaria, Lyro and Elia all shared victorious grins. 

“The children can play in the pools, otherwise they will never leave us be and on the occasion; a tad of freedom does one well,” Ellaria murmured and Elia could not agree more. 

***

“Rhaenys, be gentle with your brother,” Elia called out to her daughter who seemed to be tugging on Aegon’s arm rather harshly. Lavender eyes looked to meet her brown and the princess duly nodded, easing her grip. From the distance, she spied Ser Jaime dutifully guarding the children but it was as if he was not there, only focusing on his duties. Her heart yearned to embrace him but each time she looked upon him; she would see Cersei and… _It is wrong, they are twins._

Elia was spread out on a patterned rug, laying on her stomach and lazing around, enjoying the heat of the sun on her back-- the oddly comforting sounds of children playing in their pools like she had, once upon a very different time. Lyro was next to her, sunbathing in the same fashion but Ellaria was seated in Oberyn’s lap, who in turn was seated in an armchair. They did not need to speak, the company was enough. On the occasion; Silence can be the sweetest of comforts, rivalling that of weary conversations. 

“How are you, Elia?” she heard a familiar voice ask gently. 

“Quite the same as I always am, Lyro,” she replied sweetly, turning her head to meet his pale blue eyes. A handsome and young man, he was and deserving of feeling that way. Yet there was plenty that the Lyseni hid, much like Queen Elia herself. They were bonded in that regard and many others. 

“That tells me everything and nothing,” he murmured, resigning himself to simply gazing upon her for a few moments. 

“What?” she asked, thinking of how prettily his pale eyes clashed with that sunburned skin of his. Dorne had transformed both the king, Ser Jaime, Lyro and many more’s pale skins into a warmer kind. _They say a noblewoman should not spend much time in the sun, for it will age her but what a terribly dull life it must be. The sun is the very essence of life, why should we not indulge in its warmth?_

“I am simply admiring you,” he shrugged, “You look lovely-- there is life in your features. There was a haunting aspect to your beauty when we were in King’s Landing. Here… You just are and to be is to be, is it not?” _But I am not so beautiful as the likes of you, Rhaegar and Cersei Lannister. I could never equal that, so how can I be so lovely as you say?_

“You do not believe me,” he remarked after a few moments passed and she’d not made a reply.

“There are great beauties, Lyro. I am not among them,” she said softly, which caused the Lyseni to frown. 

“Beauty is much more than the extremities,” he began, “True beauty coincides with that which lies within. You are fortunate enough to be blessed with both. Having only external beauty is vain and soon proves to disquiet those around. You are nothing of the sort, Elia.” 

“Neither are you, Lyro.” The Lyseni smiled sadly at that. 

“Would I be here if I was not comely?” _Does he think they love him only for his beauty? Of course he does,_ a part of her mind chided, _He was raised with the notion that his comeliness meant everything and it did. Of course he fears what will happen when he’s stripped of it._ How sad it was, to live one’s life in that manner. _Yet… Lyro is but what the Lyseni made him. What a horrible thing to do to a young, sweet boy filled with hope and dreams._

“You would,” the Dornishwoman told him sincerely, “My brother is not the vain sort like that. You are not one of his pretty keepsakes-- Doomed to only remain that.” 

Instead of replying, Lyro made another observation, “In King’s Landing, you were always in the company of your pretty, white lion. He lit you up, I wish you could have seen how the grief erased itself from your face. A phenomenon, truly. I do not mean to pry,” the Lyseni lowered his voice, “But has something occurred betwixt the two of you? You seem strangely apart, when before you had been whole.” 

“Ser Jaime is a kind man,” Elia allowed, “And he has brought me much joy. However, he is my daughter’s sworn shield and sometimes… things grow apart.” Her own words proved to sadden her aching heart even more. 

“Did you want them to?” Lyro asked, “To grow apart, that is.” 

“No,” she confessed, feeling her eyes sting, “I did not but that does not change anything.” 

“Many things done can be undone, one needs only make it so. If you are miserable without his company, why should you starve yourself off of it? It seems cruel,” the Lyseni said with a frown. 

“It is cruel,” Elia murmured, “But sometimes irreparable changes are made, those that change the entire constitution.” 

“Change can happen for the better, though,” Lyro said, “I am proof of that. I reckon I would be dead by now, had I stayed in Lys. It was an empty life that left an even emptier feeling once the day had passed. Here, I have a purpose and it gives me joy and a yearning for life that I otherwise would have lacked.” 

“I do not think people should be judged by their past,” Elia whispered, “And I do not want to, yet I find myself doing so involuntarily.” The Lyseni seemed crestfallen by her words and the Dornishwoman quickly caught on to what he thought her meaning was, so she corrected herself. “Not you, Lyro. _Never_ you.” 

“But if you refuse to do so for me, why should you do it for someone else, if they have redeemed themselves? If they are regretful of their actions and past? I know that I have done some things that shames me, even to this day-- yet I would not want you to judge me for them. My reality would have differed from yours vastly. We all see things differently, for our eyes are always clouded by our own feelings and experiences. It is hard to put oneself in someone else’s head.” His words proved to resonate with her and she pondered whether she truly had been fair with Jaime. _I refrain from judging Lyro, although I know little of his past except that it seems to be haunted by awful ghosts… Yet I cannot look past what Jaime is so obviously regretful about?_

However, perhaps the reason that the Dornishwoman felt this way, was that Lyro had not been overly indulgent when it came to sharing his past. She knew that dark matters surely lay there, yet she’d not been made aware of them. I _was made aware to Jaime and Cersei. I know what has occurred and it is much harder when you know the details, so very much harder._ Elia did not want to be contradictory, she had told Jaime many a times that his past mattered not, _that it is who he is that I see-- but am I not holding him prisoner for deeds he committed many years past?_

“You are quite correct, Lyro,” she replied and sighed deeply, wondering what on earth that she was to do now. _There is naught to be done. I am a queen and he is a knight of the Kingsguard, we cannot flee to the Free Cities and wed, I have children and obligations. I could never love him openly and rumors would surely spread of us… The walls of the Red Keep has ears, spiderlings spinning their cobwebs of false truths for their mother._ It was hopeless for them, _why should I even think of indulging in something that can end with both of our heads on a spike?_

Elia really thought that she loved Jaime in a way she had loved Arthur once and Rhaegar, too but love only ends in misery. There was no way in which the both of them would come out on the top. _I’ve sworn my life away to Rhaegar and the realm. He has done the same, in a different fashion. Why did he have to love me,_ she wondered, _why could he not simply care for me as a companion and allow me to nurse my broken heart and forget this folly? Why did he have to love me back? Now, all has shattered._ It was not fair, it truly was not. The lives of kings and queens and knights rarely are. 

***

In the coming days, preparations for their journey to Starfall were made and everyone seemed pleased with the visit, Ser Arthur was positively elated regarding the prospect of meeting his niece and sister, once more. Rhaegar was apprehensive when it came to that. 

_“You will travel first,” the king told Elia in Doran’s solar, “And you will bring Rhaenys, Aegon and Viserys. Ser Jaime and a small host of knights will accompany you and another of the Kingsguard, should you so wish.” Only Jaime? She wondered how that would work._

_“We will not travel together?” she asked and he shook his head, running his hand through his hair of both silver and gold._

_“No. I still have much to discuss with your brother, so Lyanna, Aemon and I will follow a few days later, depending on how long these talks will take-- Alongside the rest of the Kingsguard.”_

_“Ser Arthur does not travel with us?” I had expected him to, he is eager to meet his family, she thought._

_“No,” Rhaegar replied wearily, sitting down in the armchair and sighing, “I have spoken to him regarding this. He will follow a day after you because-”_

_“-You want me to sway whatever heated thoughts Lady Ashara has in regards to her treasonous brother?”Elia realised._ _  
_ _“Yes,” her husband replied but then frowned, “Use that word lightly.” Elia raised an eyebrow._

_“Treason is treason, husband,” she said evenly as her gaze pierced through his indigo one, “There is no middle-ground.”_

_“Come here,” Rhaegar said instead and stretched out an arm. He was dressed in a breezy tunic made of silk, the color of a ruby sunset. One could see his chest beneath, the outline of his abdominal muscles, moving in the rhythm of his steady breathing. Elia obeyed, padding over to the king who wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. Rhaegar did not speak, he only held her, softly caressing her back-- As if making sure that she was truly there and not some ghost sent to haunt him. He smelled of Dorne and himself, she was pleased it was no longer foreign to her. It brought upon a sweet comfort yet… she wanted Jaime. She wanted Jaime so very much._

The Dornishwoman had wished to speak with the knight, yet there had been no moment to as they were in the midst of their preparations. The children also demanded her attention, wanting to travel and go on adventures with Oberyn. Then there was the matter of spending time with Lyro, Ellaria, Mellario and Doran before she left. _I do not know when I shall meet them again, Jaime will still be with me. They will not._ There was so much time and not enough of it, all at the same time. 

They were due to leave in three days time and Elia was currently seated on her beautiful balcony, alongside Ellaria whom she’d invited for tea. It was a hot day, however and instead of tea, they drank iced milk and nibbled on cakes and pastries. 

“How is the babe treating you?” Elia asked kindly, “I know that Rhaenys was a force to be reckoned with. Aegon was calmer, yet he had his moments as well.” That caused the Bastard of Hellholt to chuckle. 

“I do see how that can be,” Ellaria began, taking a sip of her iced milk, “But it is treating me well so far. She barely makes a fuss, this one.” 

“She?” Elia repeated with a grin, “You know it is a girl?” 

“I know it is my first babe,” Ellaria smiled shyly, “Yet I simply know it in my heart. Have you felt something similar? Something so known that it _had_ to be true?” _Once or twice or maybe three times._

“Yes,” she replied softly, “With Aegon I knew for sure.” 

“He is the sweetest little thing, your princeling. So gentle but strong, so courteous and kind for his age. Princess Rhaenys is the same, sweet and clever but cunning with a fierce nature. The future of the realm looks bright, My Queen. You should be proud.” 

“Elia,” the Dornishwoman said, turning to Ellaria with a fond smile, “Only Elia when we are alone.” _With them; I do not have to be a queen and that is a welcome relief, on the occasion._ She could simply be a person, just like everyone else. 

“You seem happy to be back in Dorne, Elia,” Ellaria beamed, “Happier than I ever saw you in King’s Landing.”

“I am,” Queen Elia confessed, “So much that I seem to be bursting at the seams.” 

“Your brother has missed you greatly, so have we. Oberyn always speaks of your childhood with such warmth that it can bring a dead man to life.” 

“We were so close in age,” the Dornishwoman began, adjusting the hem of her gown and tucking a stray lock of brown hair behind her ears, “Doran was much older and a man grown by the time we were young. Our bond grew fiercer because of it. One could almost call Oberyn my older, little brother. Doran watched over us both. ” _We were never like Jaime and Cersei, though. Never._ The thought made her feel ill and as if she might be sick. 

“I hope that you will visit again soon,” Ellaria’s eyes sparkled a calm green as she put a hand atop the Dornishwoman’s, “To meet the babe.” 

“That is my wish as well, Ellaria,” Elia beamed but both of them knew that it depended upon if Rhaegar shared the same sentiment. _It is not a woman’s world that we live in. The South is not Dorne and I am lucky to have as much power as I do._ She was well aware that Rhaegar could have chosen to not allow his wife any part in the governing of the realm, to force a life of empty flattery and dullness upon her. 

_He could have chosen to treat me terribly, use me for his own purposes, take away any say I might have in anything and actively dismiss my wishes-- yet he did not._ Elia had her quarrels with her husband-- wounds that would never heal and instead scarred terribly but this was on one front that she could not fault him. He cared for her, she knew but it would _never_ be enough. _I am thankful that he allows me to hold these positions, though, for the Gods know that many of the prickly councillors give him grief for allowing a woman such power-- A Dornish one at that._ Yet her husband had always trusted her, had she been a crueler woman; that would have been his downfall. 

“Have you thought of any names?” Elia asked instead, gazing into the distance where she could overlook Sunspear from beyond the marble railings of the balcony. 

“We have,” Ellaria allowed, a wicked glint in her green eyes. 

“Would you care to share them?” Elia raised an eyebrow and watched Ellaria’s lips tilt into a lopsided smile. 

“Where is the fun in that?” 

“So secretive,” Elia shook her head, chuckling, “Keep your secrets, then. If it please you.” 

“It will be much more interesting if it is a surprise, would you not say?” The Dornish queen saw what appealed to Oberyn when it came to Ellaria. Something about her simply drew one in. She was one of a kind. So was Lyro. 

“Perhaps but I will want a raven right away.” 

“Consider it done.” 

***

After that, the Dornishwoman went in search for her daughter, good-brother and son, for she did not wish to be alone with her own thoughts, knowing how they may wander. 

The children were in the nursery, alongside Lyanna-- eagerly watching Prince Aemon take his first steps. 

“Gods, I hope I am not disturbing anything,” Elia beamed as she gently closed the door behind her. Lyanna looked at her with a smile that made her look so young-- _too young. A young woman who was never a girl, almost._ The Northerner was dressed in a simple gown of orange samite with one strap, leaving her other shoulder bare.

“No, we are simply cheering this one along.” 

“Mama, Ae is walking just like Egg did!” Rhaenys squealed happily and the pale princeling seemed in great spirits, attempting to walk on wobbly knees. 

“You can do it,” Viserys encouraged his nephew, “It is not so hard.” The prince was on his knees, like Lyanna, arms around Rhaenys as she leaned against him. It was a beautiful sight and the adoration the two had for each other never ceased to warm Elia from within. 

Suddenly, the little Northern prince turned to Elia with a grin that lit up his face.

“Mama,” he murmured and began wobbling toward the Dornishwoman which made her freeze and send an alarmed look Lyanna’s way. _He did not? He did not just call me_ \- It felt horrific, for she knew how heartbroken she would have been-- were Aegon to have called Lyanna his mother. 

Yet there was no sadness upon Lyanna’s solemn face, the smile remained in place. 

“He has been saying it all day, even to Rhaegar,” the Northerner shared.

“Oh,” Elia replied, relieved that she’d not stolen a vital moment for Lyanna. Before she knew it, however, the prince Aemon fell into her with a giggle, causing Elia to let out a surprised sound and ultimately deciding to sit down upon the floor of the nursery, taking the prince into her arms. 

It never ceased to astound Elia how like Aemon was Rhaegar-- Yet how unlike he was, too. The face was long and his eyes a Stark grey. Yet you could see his father in his features, as well-- Even if he did not have the Valyrian coloring. _Rhaenys resembles me in her colors, but she has more of Rhaegar and so does Aegon, who inherited his father’s colors as well._

“Are you not the sweetest little thing?” Elia asked the prince who cuddled up in her arms, gurgling happily. 

Then, Aegon followed his brother into the arms of the Dornishwoman.

“Mama, I missed you,” her son mumbled, to which she giggled and kissed the fair hair atop his head.

“I saw you this morning, my sweet.” 

“I know,” the prince grumbled and hid his face in the crook of her neck. Elia sent an amused look Lyanna’s way, in which the Northerner mirrored.

When the Dornish queen turned to look at her daughter and good-brother, she saw Rhaenys nestled in Viserys’s arms, looking tired. Viserys had moved to sit down properly and was leaning his back against one of the cots, gently running his hands through the girl’s brown hair. 

“Mayhaps it is time for your afternoon naps?” the Dornishwoman asked, “It has been a warm day and some sleep will have you energized for the eve.” 

“I don’t want to sleep,” her son whined but Aemon simply remained in her arms, letting out a soft sound that seemed like agreement. 

“If I tuck you in and kiss you goodnight, then?” Elia asked which turned her son thoughtful. It made her giggle, for he was so like his father in certain ways. 

“Alright,” Aegon said at last, to which the Dornishwoman chuckled. 

“Yes, alright.” 

“Viserys, will you be napping as well?” Her good-brother seemed unsure, “Otherwise you can accompany me. I am taking a trip down to the libraries.” 

“If that would be alright?” 

“Of course, my love,” Elia replied gently, eyeing him with a tender smile. 

After that, they tucked the youngest ones into bed and instructed the nursemaids and septa to wake the children before supper that eve. Then she asked Lyanna if she would like to accompany them out of courtesy, to which the Northerner declined-- Stating that she had a matter in which she needed to lay before the king. Nodding, Elia took her leave with the Targaryen prince. 

The prince was due to turn ten a little while after the year’s turn and Elia relished in the moments she would have left with the sweet, young boy before he became a man and began drifting apart from her, as all impending men and women do their elders. 

“Soon you will be taller than me, my gentle Viserys” she told the boy who gave her a shy smile, firm grip on her hand.

It warmed the Dornishwoman that he still held her hand. Of course it was away from other boys who might tease him for it, yet it was a symbol of their bond. _We should not force boys to become men so early. Showing love and affection is not a weakness, they should not need to be hardened and have their comforts stripped away. A cruel world creates cruel men. Some need only be loved, yet we refuse it for some strange, wicked reason._

“I will always be your Viserys, Elia,” the boy said and she stopped to kiss the top of his head, smiling lovingly. 

“Even when you are a man grown with children of his own?” she asked, teasingly. 

“Even then,” the boy nodded solemnly. 

“Rhaenys is blessed to have such a devoted uncle, Aegon and Aemon too.” 

“I love them, I love her. Just as I love you and mother and Rhaegar.” His heart was too big for his body, truly. 

“And we all love you in return, my sweet.” Smiling, the prince began on another note.

“Rhaegar says we are to travel to Starfall soon, yet he will follow a few days after with Lyanna and Aemon.” 

“Indeed,” the Dornishwoman nodded, “Are you excited to bear witness to the seat of house Dayne?” 

“Yes,” the silver-haired prince nodded eagerly, “Once, Ser Arthur allowed me to hold Dawn and it was beautiful,” he gushed, lilac eyes glazing over with a fond remembrance.

“Did he now? How kind of him.” 

“And I hear that sometimes comets pass Starfall and they light up the night-sky,” Viserys shared eagerly.

“That is true,” Elia nodded as she opened the door to the library, “I bore witness to them a few times. Oh, how it is beautiful, Viserys,” she reminisced. 

“Lady Ashara was kind to me. Once; she offered me sweets even though it was after supper.”

“She is very kind and now; she has a babe of her own. Little Naella.” 

“That is a pretty name,” the prince agreed, “I think Rhaenys will take to her.” 

“I think so too,” Elia smiled. 

Once inside, they sat down by a beautifully carved wooden table and the Dornishwoman asked Viserys what he would like to read. He is a very learned boy, with many of the qualities that a maester or an archmaester would possess. However, she did not think that Viserys would like to become a maester of any sorts. _Call it a hunch but I think my good-brother would like more out of his life._ Elia thought that though one _can_ be something does not mean they should become just that. The prince was also one of the only living male Targaryens left. _Rhaegar will want him to wed some noblewoman and procure more heirs of the blood, to prevent the supply of Targaryens depleting even further._

Instead of answering, the boy frowned softly and asked “Will you tell me of my namesakes-- of Dany and Rhae’s too?” _He must surely already know, must he not? He has read all those volumes of Targaryens and other noble houses._

“Do you not already know all there is to know of them?” Elia asked with a kind smile. The sun was peeking in through the windows of painted glass, giving the library an ethereal sort of beauty. 

“Well,” the boy said, chewing on his lower lip, “I know some but not all. The excerpts and volumes I’ve read focus mostly on the men. I thought that perhaps you knew more, that mayhaps the texts were different in Dorne.” _You are right, my sweet boy. These withered, old maesters barely give thought to the women, who by all accounts were just as important_

“Who do you wish to know of first?” the Dornishwoman asked, Targaryen history had been a favorite pastime of hers when she had been younger. _They were just extraordinary by all accounts._ She hadn’t ever dared dream that she would further on the line of them-- the mere thought that she was distant kin to them had been enough. 

“Rhaenys,” the silver-haired prince said without hesitation, large lilac eyes gazing at her. _His little niece. My sweet daughter could not ask for a better uncle, Viserys loves her more than he loves himself it seems and even though they have their quarrels and differences on the occasion-- They always rekindle quickly._

“Alright, Rhaenys it is,” the Dornishwoman chuckled and began thinking. 

“First there was the conqueror’s wife-- whom you know of. A fierce dragonrider she was, just like her siblings. They say that Rhaenys was a lively beauty and loved to fill her halls with music, poetry and art. She lived to laugh and loved to fly, by all accounts she spent more time in the air than the both of her siblings combined.” 

“She sounds lovely,” the prince said ponderously, “Our Rhaenys loves to laugh. I think she would have liked to fly, as well.” 

“She would have,” Elia agreed. _Alas, there are no dragons to be had. Not anymore._ “It is sad that Queen Rhaenys’s ending was so tragic.” The Dornish queen remembered how wroth she’d been when Rhaegar told her of their daughter’s name. 

_“Have you no thought for its history?” Elia almost screamed at the man, “You are cursing our daughter! Queen Rhaenys Targaryen died in my homeland, killed by my people and you name our child after such a tragedy? The second one fared no better-- slaughtered by her own kin-- destined to be a queen herself but having it stolen from her and her children! How dare you?” The Dornishwoman continued to fume, although the birth had taken much strength from her._

_“She is a vital part in the song of ice and fire,” Rhaegar replied solemnly, “It is a fitting name-- fit for a queen and she shall be one. But there has to be three, there has to be.” Elia did not like it one bit when her husband behaved this way, the way his eyes glazed over into something else. She loved Rhaegar Targaryen almost as much as she feared what the prophecies did to him. Was he destined to grow mad, like his father?_

“She perished here in Dorne, did she not?” Viserys asked solemnly and Elia nodded.

“Yes, sweetling. She did.” 

“Aegon loved her more than Visenya, than the only one he was supposed to wed and love.” 

“They do say he wed his older sister out of duty,” the Dornish queen acknowledged, “But he loved Rhaenys far too much to see her in the arms of another man, so he wed her too. As per Valyrian custom.” 

“Like Rhaegar did Lyanna?” Somehow… it stung when the prince said it like that. _We wed out of duty, yes. But I loved him, I loved him so much that my heart bled with it. That it would ache in my chest every time I saw him frown so sadly, and how my belly would fill with golden butterflies each time he grinned or smiled ever so softly._

“It is like it,” she shrugged, “But so very unlike it all the same.” 

“If I was Rhaegar, I would have stayed with you,” the boy said and his eyes were brimming with such sincerity that she felt forced to look away, or she would surely weep. 

“You are such a gentle soul, Viserys,” Elia began softly, hot tears burning in her eyes, “Do not ever let anyone harden it into sleeting ice. We need warmth to live, sweetling. We perish in the cold, those like us were not fashioned for it.” 

“I promise, Elia,” he replied seriously and she chuckled, for he looked so much like his older brother when he did that. 

“And smile, my love. Do it often and well. Live until your heart is content, do not settle and reprimand anyone who tries to force you to. Sweet boys like you deserve to grow into happy men. In truth; everyone does.” 

With a grin, the boy nodded, “Can you continue your tale?” 

“Of course,” she giggled and reached a beige hand out to ruffle his soft, silver-gold curls, “so impatient,” Elia continued, tut-tutting. “Well, the second Rhaenys was the only child of Crown-Prince Aemon Targaryen who wed his aunt, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon. Both parents were comely and good-natured, earning the nickname ‘The pale prince and the dark lady’ for Prince Aemon had inherited the Valyrian looks, whilst Jocelyn took after her Baratheon father.” 

“Rhaenys was to be queen,” the prince chimed in, drumming on the table with his fingers, intently listening to her tale. 

“Yes, that she was,” Elia nodded and continued with a sigh, “But it was not to be. Though Queen Alysanne and Jaehaerys had brought many babes into the world, not many would live until adulthood. When Prince Aemon died on the Isle of Tarth, he left a daughter. Though the old king’s queen and half-sister Jocelyn were for the succession of Rhaenys-- Who by all accounts was a clever and capable woman-- He chose his second son Baelon as the Prince Of Dragonstone instead, causing the second great quarrel. Not only because he passed over his granddaughter, but the child inside her as well. You see, Princess Rhaenys was with child during this period.” 

“Then the war came.” 

“Then the war came,” Elia concurred gravely. 

“Rhaenys’s line would survive by the grandchildren that her daughter, Lady Laena left behind by Prince Daemon, Rhaena and Baela. At the age of fifty-five, Princess Rhaenys perished alongside her dragon Meleys, leaving many mourning her death.” 

“Our Rhaenys looks like her, does she not?” Viserys asked, “I hear she had dark hair and purple eyes.” 

“Yes, I should assume my daughter bears a sort of resemblance to The Queen Who Never was.” 

“Rhaenys’s life will be happier than that,” the prince vowed fiercely, “She will not die and be forgotten, she will be glorious.” He paused, “And queen. I will not let anyone hurt her.” 

“She is the third of her name,” Elia murmured, “And the fates of her forebears are not hers to wear.” 

“She is good,” Viserys said, “She will be beautiful like Queen Rhaenys and the princess who was never a queen and she is happy and determined and,” he faltered, “She will be a good queen. I know it, Just as Egg will be a good king.” 

“Yes, my sweet,” the Dornishwoman smiled at her good-brother. 

“Now tell me of Daenerys, please,” he pleaded and even though they had been seated for a very long time, she could not deny him-- no more than she could the other children. _This is good, he thirsts for knowledge, not prophecies._

“The first Daenerys was called the darling of the realm. A fearless child, blessed with endless curiosity, lively and always laughing. She was also considered a great beauty, even though she was never allowed to grow into a woman,” Elia said sadly. 

“What happened?” the boy asked, frowning slightly. 

“In due time, we shall get to that,” Elia began, “Queen Alysanne thought of Daenerys as the future queen but her husband Jaehaerys began calling their second-born Aemon heir as soon as he left his mother’s womb. It caused great strife between the king and queen, and each time Queen Alysanne would point out that Princess Daenerys was the oldest and should be queen, the king would not disagree. He would simply state that yes, she would, when she and her brother, Aemon, wed.” 

“But he wed his aunt, Lady Jocelyn,” the prince interrupted and Elia nodded.

“He did. At the age of seven, Princess Daenerys became afflicted with the shivers, a violent shivering disease that claimed one’s life within three days. Everything you could think of was done for her, yet it would not stop the progression of the disease. It killed the princess in half the time it would a fisherman’s daughter. Thusly; the princess was doomed to ever be a child, forever young. Time would never touch her as it would her siblings and how tragic it was.”

“That is so sad,” Viserys replied, shaking his head.

“Hundreds of years ago,” Elia mumbled, “Yet it does not make it any less horrific. I am sure she would have made a splendid queen-- even greater than her mother.” 

“The second Daenerys united Dorne and the crown twice over. Her brother wed Princess Mariah Martell and they both grew to be kings and queens. Princess Daenerys wed her good-sister’s brother, Prince Maron.” 

“Did they not say that she loved Daemon Blackfyre and that he rose in rebellion when denied her?” 

“A common misconception grown out of songs,” Elia murmured, “Daemon wed at fourteen, the princess was barely more than a child, on the cusp of maidenhood. I suspect there may have been a childhood fondness, yet there are not any records of Princess Daenerys stating she would have liked to wed Daemon-- instead; she remained in Dorne, a dutiful wife by all accounts. It must have been a pleasant marriage, for her husband had the water gardens made for her. Is that not a grand gift?” 

“It truly is,” Viserys agreed, nodding.

“The third Daenerys is your sister and I suspect that her life will be extraordinary. She has the makings of a beautiful girl, inside and out. Have you ever met a more gentle, loving babe?” 

“Rhaenys was a lovely child,” he murmured. 

“Yes,” Elia laughed, “But that child could surely wail and scream when it came down to it. Your sister lacks the fierce temperament of the Targaryens, she is calm and gentle but I suspect her fires will burn just as hot.” 

“They will,” he pondered, stroking his chin, “I am sure of it.” 

“Now let us get to your namesakes before dusk falls,” she laughed merrily and the boy joined in. “The first Viserys was the son of Alyssa Velaryon and Aenys Targaryen. Not much is known of him, other than that he was a kind soul, like you. His ending was no less tragic than those of the Rhaenys’ and first Daenerys,” Elia said mournfully. “He was tortured by his uncle’s wife and left in the courtyard as a feast for the crows, in hopes his mother would return to fetch him. Dowager Queen Alyssa did not. He was only four-and-ten years of age.” 

“Oh,” Viserys replied, stunned, “That is… horrible. He must have been very scared and lonely. No one should die scared and lonely, it is cruel.” 

“His uncle was nothing short of that,” the Dornishwoman shook her head, feeling strangely mournful when telling the tale.  _ It is not strange, it is mournful. The poor boy had done nothing wrong but live.  _

“The second Viserys was Princess Rhaenyra’s father, the brother of Prince Daemon and son of Baelon, the spring prince. Yet he never styled himself as the second of his name, which was why his grandson by Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, Viserys II was given that title for some reason unbeknownst to me.” Elia was not quite sure how it worked with those titles and names,  _ I should have Rhaegar refresh my memory. _

“He was the fat and happy one, right?” 

“Yes,” she smiled, “He was. But he was also indecisive, which attributed to the bloody war that followed after his death. Yet he was happy, generous and kind. He laughed often and well, perhaps he was simply not made to be king.” 

“I would not like to be king,” Viserys said solemnly.

“Why not?” she asked curiously, gazing into the boy’s orbs of liquid lilac. 

“It is too much work,” he shrugged, “I wish to be happy. Kingship seems to age men beyond their years. 

“Do you think your brother looks like an old crone?” she laughed, wondering what Rhaegar would have to say regarding his brother’s words. 

“He certainly looks weary by the end of the day,” Prince Viserys said, smiling slightly and showing off a dimpled cheek. 

“He does, does he not?” she winked, “But do not tell him I said that, we must nurture your brother’s esteem of himself.” 

“I won’t,” the prince grinned. 

“The one who styled himself as second of his name was the son of Princess Rhaenyra, who grew to be king for a year before he perished. His was a hard life, born as the shadows of war were upon his part of the family. In fact, he was abandoned by his brother in the battle of the gullet, disguised himself as a ship’s boy and grew up in Lys, a ward of the Rogares’.” 

“They were almost as rich as the Iron Bank of Braavos in their peak, right?” Viserys asked, pale lilac eyes wide. 

“Richer,” Elia whispered, beaming and her good-brother gasped. “And he wed their daughter, beautiful Larra and succeeded in fathering three children upon her. I am sure you have heard of them?” 

“Yes,” he replied, “Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Queen Naerys and King Aegon the unworthy.” It was as if the prince simply retained information like a dutiful sponge. 

“He was described as gifted with the charm his solemn brother never wore, carefree and always seen with a smile upon his face. Then, Larra Rogare decided to travel back to Lys, leaving him and their children in Westeros. She died young, I hear. Though I know not what claimed her life.” 

“It made him stern, did it not?” _It did, my sweet. He must have loved her greatly but she could not stand the vile court of King’s Landing-- who treated her like a foreign whore, worse than they did me._

“It did and when his brother and nephews perished one by one, the crown fell atop his head. Though he would not wear it for long and died relatively young. A year into his rule, I should think,” the Dornishwoman pondered. 

“My maester said there are rumors that his son poisoned him to claim the throne for himself.” 

“There are rumors regarding everything, sweetling. Most cannot be proven or disproven and we shall never know. Those truths died with these people and there it shall remain buried for all of time.” 

“You make valid points,” the prince nodded and Elia smiled.

“We must remain critical, Viserys. Otherwise our minds will be poisoned by the gossip and uncertainties of what may or may not have occurred. Retain information, do not trust it blindly.” 

“I won’t,” he acknowledged, the streaks of gold in his hair lighting up like starlight, in the waning light from those painted windows. _It is getting quite late._

“And then there is you; the fourth of your name.” 

“Rhaenys and Dany are the third of their names,” the boy breathed, “It is an intriguing realisation.” _I should suppose it is,_ the Dornishwoman pondered.

“It is,” Elia agreed, “But I have an inkling that all of you will go on to do wonderful, extraordinary things.” 

“I think  _ you  _ are extraordinary, Elia,” the boy said and she smiled.

“I am nothing out of the ordinary, my sweet prince.” 

“But you _ are.” _

***

The next few days passed in a blur consisting of preparations, tearful goodbyes and promises of meeting each other again. The Dornish Queen was nervous but ecstatic regarding the prospect of seeing her dearest of friends, once more. Yet she was also plagued by uncertainty, haunted by Ser Jaime’s confession of love and even more so; of what to do next. She loved him, in a different yet not-so-different way from the way she had loved Rhaegar and Arthur. 

The thoughts of how she loved all three in three different ways returned and continued to torment the young woman. To distance and stop herself from thinking, she would spend time with her children, who always succeeded in lightening her mood. Yet there was a knowing look in both her brothers’ eyes, and a more sorrowful one each time she met Jaime’s green orbs. _I do love you, I just shouldn’t_ she wanted to scream each time she saw him, but her words caught in her throat and turned her tongue to stone. 

On the final day, when they were set to travel to Starfall-- Elia took her time with her brothers, their children, paramours and wives. She wished to keep the moments close, to wrap them up in a bundle and hold them close to her heart, for whenever they would come into good use. Dorne had been a dream, a beautiful one, so lovely that it would sometimes surprise her that their time there had been real. 

“We are going to visit the seat of the woman who is the closest thing that you have to an aunt, sweetlings,” Elia told her children as they were helped inside the carriage. Ser Jaime helped the princess up the steps and all-but seemed to melt when Rhaenys thanked him so courteously. _A little lady, she is._ Then, he turned to Elia briefly and she saw how tense he seemed, the uncertainty-- as if he was searching for a hint of revelation to her thoughts, just by gazing upon her face. 

_You will not find any, sweet Jaime. I learned how to compose my thoughts and self in the court of my good-father. I was always a quick learner._ Mayhaps Lady Cersei had always worn her thoughts on her sleeve, _or perhaps they just knew each other better._ A shudder went through the Dornishwoman, despite the warm day. 

“Shall we depart?” Ser Jaime asked after all had been said and done. 

“Yes,” Elia murmured, “It is time.” Then, she climbed up the steps and seated herself with Rhaenys and Viserys opposite her and Aegon cuddling up against her right side. From the dainty window, she could see Oberyn waving, Rhaegar too. Lyro was smiling and so was Ellaria, yet Elia herself felt as if drowned in equal parts melancholy and longing. 

She wanted to see Starfall again, but she would miss her family terribly. _When will I see them again? How many years until I walk the soils of Dorne again?_ Elia received no answer but the chiming of the wind. 

_And what in the seven hells am I to do with Jaime?_

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposting this because I was made aware that I'd forgotten a Viserys (thx CherryBlossom016) and that he's technically the fourth but called the third because it's a tricky deal and idek how these things work. But in the AWOIAF wiki he styles himself as third of his name and I don't know why Viserys (son of Baelon) Wasn't styled as the second of his name-- or why Daenerys calls herself the first of her name in ASOIAF when she's the third technically. 
> 
> update: Y'all kindly explained it to my stupid ass in the comments, thank you very much <3
> 
> Don't forget to drop a comment down below!


	19. My grave is dug.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Men are always so preoccupied with the making of more men, that they forget to be boys. And if one forgets to be a boy, they forget to feel and love,” Ashara shook her head. 
> 
> “And that breeds a cold and hard man,” Elia continued, strangely thinking of Lord Tywin and his unflinching, green eyes flecked with gold.
> 
> “It is often those who commit atrocities.” The Dornishwoman and Ashara thought in the same manner when it came to certain matters. We are two vessels of one whole. 
> 
> “But Ser Jaime is not that kind of man, is he?” her friend inquired, “It would be a shame, if he was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Y'all-- It's three in the morning (Or well technically it's christmas day... Idk depends on when you celebrate it). 
> 
> But here is my gift to you :) 
> 
> It's not been edited or anything, I'm gonna go sleep now.
> 
> Don't forget to leave a commentttttt down below (and a kudos if you enjoyed the story) We all know comments are my only source of serotonin these days and that it'd be fucking lit if you left one. 
> 
> ((Very important note at the end of this chapter. please take the time to read.))

It was midday when they arrived in Starfall and though the journey had passed smoothly, Elia felt weary from the carriage and yearned to be free of the stuffiness and sticky heat. Yet the air smelled sweet with the flowers of Starfall and she sensed a soft breeze as she climbed down the steps, to the sturdy ground beneath. 

She gazed at Ser Jaime as he helped the children out as well, the way he managed to do it with such a swift grace and gentle hands. His golden hair had grown out, reaching almost to the shoulders and his skin had bronzed from the kisses of the Dornish sun, making the Lannister’s emerald eyes glow like true gems.  _ Such a beauty, young as well. Only twenty years of age with his life sworn away.  _

From the distance, Elia spied a tall, pale and willowy woman in the courtyard with a babe in her arms. Time seemed to still in a way and the Dornishwoman stood frozen in her place, feeling as if she was in the midst of a fever dream.  _ Will it all vanish into smoke, if I dare reach out and touch it?  _

“Your Grace,” Ser Jaime said and snapped her out of the hazy daze. She almost wished to laugh, for all of their interactions on the way to Starfall had been the same.  _ Always ‘Your Grace’ and ‘My Queen’, ‘Ser’ and ‘Ser Jaime’. _ They had torn, Elia knew it.  _ We are broken now and is there any hope for mending?  _

“Yes,” she cleared her throat, “Let us greet our dear friends. It has been too long.” Was she speaking to herself? Perhaps Ser Jaime, or even the children. Maybe to the ghosts of all those who could not be there. _ Ser Lewyn and all the Dornishmen who never got to go home. _ With a nod, Ser Jaime waited for her to begin walking. 

“Is that Lady Asha?” Princess Rhaenys asked, clinging to her mother’s hand and merrily skipping along. Viserys was not too many steps behind them, holding his nephew’s hand and making sure the little prince did not fall. 

“Who’s Asha?” came Aegon’s voice from behind, causing Elia to chuckle and turn her head. 

“Lady  _ Ashara  _ is the sister of Ser Arthur,” she explained, “And the closest thing you have to an aunt, my loves. Yet you were only a babe when she left, Aegon. It is natural that you’ve no memory of her but there is plenty of it to create new ones.” 

“She is very kind,” Elia heard Viserys tell his nephew soothingly after she’d turned her head. 

“You remember Ashara, Ser Jaime?” She felt almost forced to pose the question, otherwise the silence would slowly wrap its cold arms around her throat and choke the life out of her.  _ And I want to hear his voice, to search for a trace of its warmth.  _

“I do not think anyone could ever forget her,” he replied and Elia frowned. _ No, you are right. Some are meant to be forgotten but Ashara was never one of those. She ingrains the memory of her presence into anyone she comes across _ . The Dornish queen could not help but think that she, herself was forgettable. 

Then, Ashara’s smile flooded Elia’s vision and her spirits lightened again. Grinning, the Dornishwoman greeted her dearest friend, who in turn solemnly bowed.

“My Queen, Starfall is yours.” 

“Oh, Ashara,” she smiled softly, embracing the taller woman and kissing her cheek, “I have missed you greatly.” A gentle sound brought them out of their reminiscence. 

“And this must be Naella,” the Dornishwoman gushed, eyeing the babe warmly.  _ Her hair is the same color as Aemon and Lyanna’s, _ Elia observed,  _ but her eyes are all Ashara’s. Violet pools of purple. _ She found it odd that the babe’s hair resembled that of her sister-wife’s, but waved it off-- Entirely forgetting the strange way that Lord Eddard had spoken with her of Ashara and the babe, moons earlier. 

“It is,” Ashara smiled as Elia cooed softly to the babe, earning giggles and smiles, “she is fond of you.” 

“It is quite mutual, I dare say.”

A tugging on her gown made the Dornish queen turn around to meet lavender eyes. 

“Greet Lady Ashara, Rhaenys,” she told her daughter, “She was your Ser Jaime  _ before  _ he came along.” That caused the white knight to chuckle and the sound warmed Elia. It should not have, but it did. Swiftly, Ashara handed Elia the babe and opened her arms wide, to greet the young princess with an engulfing embrace. 

“Oh, how I have missed you, my sweet Rhae,” the Lady of Starfall whispered and the young girl made a sound that suggested the sentiment was reciprocated. 

“And who is this dashing little prince?” Aegon was asked as he hid behind his mother. 

“Do not be shy, sweetling. Lady Ashara has known you since you were naught but a quickening in my womb.” Ashara’s inviting smile made the prince rid himself of that shyness and move toward her, giggling as the woman hoisted him up into the air, laughing sweetly.

Then, it was Viserys’s turn and the pale woman’s smile remained as strong as it had been before. 

“How you have grown, My Prince,” she exclaimed, “Soon you will be taller than I, will you not?” 

“I should hope so,” the prince beamed. 

After the greetings and courtesies were finished, Ser Jaime helped the children find their bedchambers and Elia accompanied Ashara through the halls, to her chambers.

“Everything has remained the same,” the Dornishwoman breathed, “Just as lovely as I can remember.” 

“I wanted you to feel at home, Elia,” Ashara replied sincerely and touched the Dornishwoman’s shoulder comfortingly.

They passed Arthur’s old chambers, Elia knew, for she had snuck inside them so many times, when she was too young to understand what it truly meant.  _ I wonder if he will stay there when he arrives in the morn… I should assume not. _

“Here we are,” Ashara said as they were outside a wooden door with a sun painted on it. 

“My old ones?” Elia asked, tracing the sun delicately and feeling her throat tighten. 

“Yes,” Ashara nodded and adjusted Naella in her arms, “I thought you’d might like to.” 

“You were correct, as always,” the Dornishwoman murmured. 

“Will you join me for tea, when you have refreshed? It has been so long and there is so much to tell.”

“Of course, wait for me in the painted room?” It was  _ their  _ place,  _ their  _ spot. Where secrets remained kept and all had been simpler than it was now. 

“I will.” Having said that, the pale Lady and her natural daughter took their leave.

The insides remained so very similar that Elia thought herself to be dreaming a scene out of her past. The sitting room still had those pale lavender walls, adorned with silver vines that stretched along the edges. She continued to wander, feet softly padding across the marble floors with accents of gold.  _ The furnishing has remained quite the same, yet they’ve exchanged the table, it was smaller when I was younger.  _

Elia had always loved the simplicity of her chambers in Starfall, s _ o elegant and beautiful, not cluttered at all or suffocating. _ There was a fireplace with intricate carvings and on the mantelpiece stood carved and painted wooden sigils. House Targaryen’s was red, whereas the Dayne was purple and the Martell, orange. Hanging above the fireplace, though-- large and bold was the Martell banner.  _ Ashara has taken her time with this, I see _ and the notion warmed the Dornishwoman. Her friend was always kind of heart and took time bothering with the things others would deem unimportant and instead left to the servants. 

As the Dornishwoman entered the bedchamber, a wave of melancholy claimed her and tore so gently at her skin. The bed remained the same, so did the wardrobe, vanity and dainty table by the window. The sheets were violet, however and not the dark purple they had been, years past. The color of Ashara’s eyes… and by default; Arthur’s. It made Elia think of how much she had truly loved the man, all the nights she’d stayed up and imagined their children-- with his eyes and her hair.

Now, she still loved him. But she was  _ in  _ love with another. 

***

“You’ve had paintings added,” Elia told Ashara pleasantly as she stirred her tea. They were surrounded by walls of falling stars in every shade, white clouds on skies of blue- Dragons and suns and flowers that stretched so prettily.  _ But the snow is new, so are the wolves and solemn trees of Weirwood. _ Elia had her inklings, but none of them rose to the surface on this particular occasion. 

“I have,” Ashara beamed, “Are they to your taste?” Naella was absent from her mother’s arms, instead having been given to the wet-nurse for a feeding and a nap. 

“They are lovely,” the Dornishwoman murmured, “The colors clash so prettily. You always had a taste that I lacked, when it came to these matters.” That made the lady smile and reach out to put a pale hand on Elia’s beige one.

“You have plenty of taste that I lack, when it comes to different matters,” she began kindly, “Perhaps that is why we complete each other.”

“That does have the ring of truth to it,” the Dornish queen replied, taking a sip of her tea. “How have you been faring, Ashara,” Elia asked gently, eyeing the pale beauty with fondness.

“It is I who should be asking you that question,” Ashara sighed, raising an eyebrow, “By all accounts I must have fared much better than you did in that dreadful capital, with that horrible king and an absent husband.” 

“It was difficult,” Elia agreed, “But I am here now and those who sought to harm my children and I are cold corpses beneath the ground.” 

“But were almost not… Here, that is,” the Lady of Starfall whispered and in that moment, Elia understood why many referred to the eyes of Ashara Dayne as haunting in their beauty. They simply had that ability to  _ move,  _ to shake the object of their observation from its holdings.

“We have Ser Jaime to thank for our lives, I will never forget it.” 

“The golden lion?” Ashara asked, lips tilting upward but that haunted look in her eyes remained, “Such a young boy he was.” 

“And they forced him to become a man.” 

“It is sad when they do that prematurely, is it not?” Solemn, violet eyes, framed by dark lashes met Elia’s and she was reminded of Daenerys.  _ They have the same eyes.  _

“Very sad,” the Dornishwoman swallowed, “But it is the way of our world and it does not look as if it will change, when it comes to that aspect.” The Lady frowned and took a sip of her tea, the lemon-cake on her plate untouched. 

“Men are always so  _ preoccupied  _ with the making of more men, that they  _ forget  _ to be boys. And if one forgets to be a boy, they forget to feel and love,” Ashara shook her head. 

“And that breeds a cold and hard man,” Elia continued, strangely thinking of Lord Tywin and his unflinching, green eyes flecked with gold.

“It is often those who commit atrocities.” The Dornishwoman and Ashara thought in the same manner when it came to certain matters.  _ We are two vessels of one whole.  _

“But Ser Jaime is not that kind of man, is he?” her friend inquired, “It would be a shame, if he was.” 

“No,” Elia said instantly, not even having to mull over her answer, “He most certainly is not.” 

“And my brother? I suppose not much is to be said for him,” Ashara grumbled, picking up a fork and assaulting her lemon-cake with it. 

“Arthur remains the same, but so eerily different. This war took no prisoners, it changed all of us who managed to survive it.” 

“How could he, Elia?” Ashara asked, a tear falling down her pale cheeks that now began to flush, “We grew up together, and-and he just  _ left  _ you there. He  _ left  _ you,” she continued, shaking her head violently as crystalline tears flowed freely. The Dornishwoman had never never liked to see her young friend weep, and she liked it even less now. 

“He regrets it,” she tried to soothe, reaching out across the table to stroke Ashara’s cheek, “He has told me many a time.” 

“What will regret do?” Ashara fumed, “It will not make it undone! It will not bring you any sort of comfort that he regrets it after. He could have stayed and obeyed his orders, he could have stayed and protected you, instead of leaving it for a boy who was not many years a man!” The violet-eyed woman was correct, not even Elia could argue against her points.

“But he did not,” Elia shook her head sadly, “And I’ve not in it to be wroth any longer, the Gods know I was not kind to him those first moons-” 

“-He deserves an eternity of misery for what he did!” Ashara cut her off angrily, “So does your husband and all those weak men of the kingsguard who swore to protect the royal family but broke their vows for a prince and his illusions.”

“We will rot from the inside if we allow the wounds to fester,” Elia began softly, “We will not forget and the Gods know  _ I  _ will never forgive but if I break, they win. We will stand tall and proud, Ashara, and they will cower before us.”

“Is there no justice?” Askara asked weakly, “Will they not suffer for their crimes? As we suffered from them committing them?” 

“They will suffer for it until the day they die, I’d wager. That is the thing about guilt: it grows and grows until one day; You are underwater and cannot breathe. Oberyn told me long ago that I should not deign myself to carry any of it for them, so  _ we  _ will not.” 

“I hope it creeps upon them in their sleep and haunts their dreams,” the Starfall lady let out darkly, her voice cracking, “I hope they search for peace but that it will never be within their reach. How could they have been so foolish? So rash and… Arthur,” Ashara faltered, “He was supposed to love you… He-”

“-Love is fickle,” Elia said so sadly, picking at her lemon-cake, “And fleeting at the best of times. One can never truly catch it, and if they do; It is gone in the blink of an eye-- leaving the holder to ponder if it was ever truly there to begin with.” 

“But let us leave this mess with the war behind us, for it never ceases in being able to sour my good spirits and I wish to be happy here, now that we are together again,” Elia smiled, finally taking a piece of the cake and delighting in the taste. 

“Yes,” Ashara wiped her tears and smiled but it did not quite reach her haunting, violet eyes. 

“They’ve grown so much, the princes and princess Rhaenys. Yet here on Starfall; time seems to have stood still.” 

“That is a good thing,” Elia voiced, “I’ve long longed for the serenity of Starfall-- It’s ethereal beauty where time cannot touch us.” 

“I never liked King’s Landing,” Lady Ashara murmured, “When I returned here, I felt whole but strangely in pieces. I realised that what had made me happy did not follow me from King’s Landing. I yearned for you and the children and Arthur.” 

“You’ve a little one of your own now,” the Dornishwoman grinned, taking another sip of the blackberry tea, “And what a beauty she is, the image of her mother.” 

“She is strong, a fighter,” Ashara began, “She would have perished, were it not for our maester’s valiant efforts. You see; Naella was born more than a month early.” 

“What a terrifying ordeal,” Elia frowned, eyeing her friend apologetically.

“Yes, but she is here and what joy she brings me during the days. Children are wonders and must be treasured.”

Nodding, Elia said “It is an interesting name you’ve picked-- from where does it stem?”  _ I’ve not heard of any Naella Daynes’ so it must not be inherited.  _

“It gives acknowledgement to her father, for that is all I can do.” 

“Who  _ is  _ the father, Ashara?” the Dornish queen asked softly. 

“You mustn’t tell anyone,” Lady Ashara asked of Elia, gripping her cup tightly.

“You know me, Ashara. I will not.”

“Lord Eddard Stark,” she whispered, “Ned.” 

“Lyanna’s brother,” Elia murmured, thinking back to her encounters with the man. 

“Which is exactly why no one can be made aware of it,” Ashara breathed, “Bastards are not so great a shame in Dorne and Naella is loved by all who come across her. But-” 

“-Dorne is not very fond of the Starks,” the Dornishwoman realised. 

“They are not,” the lady agreed, “I will not allow my daughter to be subjected toward spite and scorn, simply for being the natural niece of a queen they deem a traitor, and daughter of a man who fought against the crown; and within that; their princess-- you.” 

“I see,” Elia murmured, “Does Ned know of her?” 

“Yes,” Ashara allowed, “He knows that she is his.” 

“But he does not wish to meet or acknowledge her?” 

“I am sure that he does, the honorable fool,” Ashara said, a slight, wry smile grazing her lips as she must have taken a stroll down the road of reminiscence, “But I told him it would be easier if he did not. That she will be loved here, not in Winterfell and that she is  _ my  _ daughter. I will not part from Naella,” Ashara shrugged, “Besides; his pretty little Tully wife would not take kindly to a bastard being raised amongst her trueborns, no highborn lady would... We wanted to wed, you know? Before the war and his marriage.” 

“I am sorry, Ash,” Elia replied sympathetically, “I truly am.” 

The lady’s violet eyes remained haunting as she smiled falsely, “It was long ago. The wounds have ceased their incessant weeping.”  _ They never do, my sweet friend. They may scar and pretend to close but at the slightest graze; they burst open and remind you of what was lost.  _

“Does he not wish to come and see her, then?” 

“If his paths take him to Starfall, I should suppose. Otherwise, he will read of it. I send him letters once every moon.” Her friend paused for a breath, “It is easier this way. For the both of us.” 

“Will you tell Naella of him-- who he is?” the pale woman nodded.

“When she comes of age,” Ashara confided, “I will not rob her of that knowledge. But she  _ needs  _ to be old enough to understand  _ why  _ things had to be done the way that they were. I only hope she will not fault me for it.” 

“She will not,” Elia promised, “You are a good mother and she will understand, when the time comes.” 

“Enough of me now,” Lady Ashara smiled, “Let us move onto you. Oberyn tells me that you have a vital part in governing the realm alongside the king-- and that your relations have somewhat mended.” 

“Vital and vital,” Elia shrugged her shoulders, “I advise Rhaegar, sit in council meetings, give him my thoughts regarding certain matters and more oft than not, he heeds that counsel. I like it, Ash,” she smiled, “It makes me feel as if I have a part, as if I matter.” 

“You  _ do  _ matter,” Ashara said fiercely, reaching out to the platter of cakes and beginning to nibble on a pastry. 

“And our relations….” Elia began, ignoring the earlier statement,  _ no one in King’s Landing would blink, were I to perish. They would only line their pretty little maiden daughters on a row, outside Rhaegar’s chambers-- For him to decide whom he would like to wed and bed,  _ “They will never mend. Some things that break cannot be fixed.”

“But you do not despise him?”

“No more than I find myself being able to despise Arthur,” Elia shook her head and turned her gaze toward the uninteresting pieces of lemon-cake on the plate, 

“Oh, Elia,” Ashara said gloomily, reaching out to stroke her friend’s hand in comfort, “If only all could be born with your gentle heart.” 

“They would suffer for it, surely,” the Dornishwoman shrugged, “I loved them once, so fiercely that I for some reason unbeknownst to me… cling to that love. It is weak, to be sure. But it is  _ all  _ I have. Were they to have returned cruel monsters, maimed by war and torn apart by its ghosts, hate would come easier, I am certain. But I find them to be just the same but so terribly different all the same.” 

“My sweet Elia,” Ashara said tearfully, “You are all except for weak.” 

“Sometimes I look into their eyes, you know,” the Dornishwoman began, “And I see the men they  _ were. _ The boy from Starfall who I loved-- The one who would run along these meadows beside me, pretending he was Prince Duncan of Dragonflies. Then I see the soft-spoken prince who warmed me in the coldest nights on Dragonstone. It is so hard to hate when you have a volume of fond memories, depicting what you once were.” 

“I understand,” came Ashara’s reply, eerily quiet, as if she was reflecting on ghosts of her own.

“But I am in quite a mess now, Ashara and it seems I may have dug my own grave.” That statement garnered a worried look from her companion, making Elia truly debate if she was to put her predicament to words.  _ If I do, there is no going back. They will have escaped my mind and been breathed into existence, there is no undoing them.  _

“What is it? I will help you, no matter what.” 

Elia’s tongue seemed to turn to lead, then and the words caught in her throat. She wondered where to start, how to make it make sense, for barely she understood. And… After those years in King’s Landing, she was wary of relaying secrets because they were never kept for long, in the capital. _ But this is Ashara, _ her mind whispered,  _ she would rather die than betray her queen. She is your dearest companion. If not her-- Who?  _

“I don’t quite know where to start,” she murmured, clutching her cup of tea that had since long turned cold, for comfort. To soothe her shaking soul. 

“It’s alright, take your time. We have a surplus of it,” her friend smiled kindly and it gave the Dornishwoman the strength to continue, for her words would be treason, to be sure. 

“As you know, Ser Jaime slayed my good-father before we came to any harm but he was arrested and sent to the dungeons, to await Rhaegar’s verdict, for Kingslaying is a grievous crime, even worse when you are one of the Kingsguard.” 

“Yes,” Ashara frowned, “But King Aerys was mad, dying was the greatest service he ever did the realm.” 

“The prickly lords closed their ears to that and only saw the crime, not what Ser Jaime had prevented. He was going to burn King’s Landing to the ground with wildfyre, it was Jaime who saved us all.”

“Gods,” her pale friend seemed to pale even more by the revelation, “But Rhaenys, Aegon an-” 

“- It mattered not to the king,” Elia shook her head and felt her throat tighten at the memories.

“Anyway,” she continued, “Rhaenys was fond of Ser Jaime and he had saved us all, more man than all of the Kingsguard-- I could not leave him to rot in the Night’s Watch or suffer the headsman's axe. Therefore I asked Rhaegar that he be put on an indefinite leave from the Kingsguard and to serve as Rhaenys’s sworn shield for a decade or so.”

“And the king agreed?” Ashara asked, “It was his father, still.” 

“I do not think Rhaegar had any great love for Aerys toward the end. Blood bound them and perhaps my husband would think of times when his father had been just that. He did not mourn, no more than his mother or I did,” Elia confessed and took a deep breath before continuing, “Besides; after all Rhaegar had done to me. The betrayals and the slights-- He could not deny me this.” 

Ashara nodded, a silent beckoning for the Dornishwoman to continue her tale, “And as Jaime was my daughter’s sworn shield, I saw him much more than ever before. We formed a friendship that grew out of death and pain. Something sweet flowered out of that despair and he was of a great comfort. He knew what it was like to suffer beneath Aerys, for he had as well.” 

“I see,” Ashara mumbled, stroking her chin. 

“And he made me feel as if I was not marked by grief, choked by scorn and destined to remain the spurned wife, the weak Dornishwoman who could not bear her husband another child. The wife who was not good enough. He made me feel young again, almost free of troubles. I counted him as one of the truest things about King’s Landing.”

“That is lovely,” Lady Starfall said but her words were on edge, as if she could sense the road of doom that Elia was leading her upon. 

“But I found myself growing more and more fond of him,” Elia faltered, “But I knew it could not be-- It _ cannot.” _ Hopelessly, Elia looked upon her younger friend and noticed that Ashara looked thoughtful, a slight frown caressing the otherwise smooth skin. 

“El-” her friend began but if the Dornish Queen did not say this now, then she would never be able to.

“-And he confessed his love for me in Sunspear, along with other matters I cannot speak but they vex me, and distort him,” Elia said, all in one breath, before tearfully continuing, “And I love him, Ashara. As fiercely as I loved Arthur and Rhaegar once. Now, the line is crossed and I do not know what to do, for everything is shattered.” 

“Elia, calm down,” Ashara said, rising from her chair and kneeling in front of the Dornishwoman, placing her hands atop Elia’s that were shaking in her lap. 

“Why did he have to love me, Ashara?” she asked, feeling tears trickle down her cheeks, “If he hadn’t, then I could have nursed my heart until it ceased to ache each time I would look upon him. If he had not, then I could have  _ simply  _ been a dutiful wife.” 

“Rhaegar is everything  _ but  _ a dutiful husband,” came Ashara’s whisper, “It is not fair that he should expect perfection in return, but such is this world of men.” 

“I am torn, Ashara. I know not what to do. I  _ should not  _ do anything,” Elia breathed, “But I want to do  _ everything.”  _

“My sweet Elia,” Ashara murmured soothingly and reached out to brush some strands of dark hair from the Dornishwoman’s face, “The flower of Dorne that came without thorns.” 

“They would have come in handy, in times like these.” 

“Ser Jaime seems a good man but he is young and those are arrogant, I would not wish you to enter something that could change in the blink of an eye. You must think this through carefully.”

“He’s not,” she began tearfully, “He is not the same as he was, when you met him. Aerys changed him-- scarred him, forced manhood upon him.”

“In that case,” her friend began gravely, “Your husband scorned you, took a second wife, started a war, fathered a child upon her and left you at his father’s mercy-- to die. There is no comfort to be found in Rhaegar’s arms, yet you are denied from finding it in Ser Jaime’s. It is cruel, so very cruel,” she shook her head, “But that does not erase your untimely love.” 

“How easy it would be, if it did.” 

“What are these matters that vex you regarding your comely knight?” The words would have made Elia blush, were she not to have felt so weary. 

“Grave mistakes he made in his past that did not seem like it at the time. Every time I look upon him, I see them, even if I do not want to.” 

“He regrets it now?” Ashara inquired, “He does not wish to fall back into them?” 

“He is very regretful,” Elia nodded, “And claims his mind was clouded at the time and I understand… It’s just-” 

“-That you cannot help but see them anyway?” 

“Yes,” Elia groaned in frustration.

“But you love him despite it?” 

“I do, it seems,” the Dornishwoman replied, staring into those haunting, violet eyes. 

“Then accept his love. I would have. You deserve to be loved fully, to be the only matter when it comes to love, on his mind. For him to give you what your husband never did or could.” 

Elia had no words for that, she simply continued staring into Ashara’s eyes and found solace in them, compassion and warmth.

“Whatever you decide to do, sweet Elia-- Be careful-”

“I kno-” 

“-No. Listen to me. Ser Jaime is the son of Lord Tywin and even though it shames me to even think the thought-- You know what kind of man his father is. The cold and hard one-- Make sure that his intentions are pure or you  _ will  _ bleed.”

“Jaime is not his father, he would not…” That, Elia knew… But had loving him made her naive to the dangers that lurked in every shadowy corner? 

“I hope not,” Ashara said, rising to take her seat, “And be careful, should something be instigated. I know you will but I cannot stand the thought of you slandered or worse… There are eyes in every corner of the Red Keep and they have a special eye out for queens and ladies that are not doing what they are supposed to.” All Elia could do was nod, for no words escaped her lips. 

“The guards in this castle belong to me until my older brother returns from his journey east, they will ask no questions, should I order that they guard your chambers in the stead of Ser Jaime,” the pale lady began, stirring her cold tea without the intention of drinking it, “And your chambers share a direct passage to each other’s.” 

“They do?” Elia asked, frowning softly. 

“Yes, I think it was built for the Princess Daenerys, during the Blackfyre rebellions, should a guard need to make a quick entrance. Only those of great importance know it even exists, which means very few. I will make Ser Jaime aware of it, he requires a briefing in any case.” 

“Thank you, Ashara,” Elia whispered sincerely, wondering what she ever did to warrant such a true friend. 

“I will die for you, Elia. You are my greatest friend and I shall keep what we shared here a secret until the end of my days. My loyalty is not so fickle as my brother’s.”

“He loves you, Ashara-”

“-He should have loved  _ you  _ enough to stay with you,” Came the Sword of The Morning’s sister’s answer. 

“Do not hold any grudge toward him in my name, sweet Ash. Who knows the next time you will meet? If it is my blessing you require, then you have it. I have made my peace with Ser Arthur. It does not include forgiveness but I have made it and my heart still bears love for him, as I know yours does too.”

“I will still give him a good slap to the cheek and a difficult time for the first few days,” Lady Starfall insisted stubbornly. 

“Had I expected any less?” Elia smiled, feeling light again. 

***

Their supper remained quite uneventful, save for Lady Ashara promising the princes and princess that come the morn, they would all explore Starfall during an excursion. 

_ “Will we see the falling stars?” Viserys asked, eyes wide.  _

_ “Can we pick pretty flowers and make crowns?” Princess Rhaenys wished to know.  _

_ “I want to play in the sand,” Aegon whined, all to the delight of Ashara and Elia.  _

_ “We will do plenty of things, now eat your supper, sweetlings,” Elia told them comfortingly, “Our stay in Starfall will be magnificent, I assure you.”  _

_ “Yes,” Lady Ashara concurred in her melodic notes, “And mayhaps, if you are good-- I will ask our dear maester to show you the stars this eve.”  _

_ “We will be,” Princess Rhaenys answered solemnly, for all of them.  _

Elia herself felt quite calm and content after supper. She’d unburdened her heart to Ashara, now she did not have to be alone in her woes with love.  _ I think I should like to sit in front of the fire and read, like I did years past when I was only a girl-- In love with a man that I shouldn’t have been.  _ The thought struck the Dornish Queen that she was in the same position now, though it was no longer Arthur she craved.

The servants had been in her chambers and already lit a fire in the hearth, which she found herself grateful for. Then, Elia quickly padded over to her closet, opening it to find her gowns and shifts already unpacked, along with two or three new ones.  _ Ashara must have had them made, what a sweet gesture. I must needs express my gratitude, come the morn.  _

She decided upon a crimson shift with golden vines embroidered on the sides and a black robe that reached down to the floors, tying it loosely around her waist. The Dornishwoman gazed at herself through the mirror as she brushed out her long waves of brown hair, strangely not finding herself averse toward the reflection. 

_ I am not as thin as I used to be, she noted.  _ It had taken her long after Aegon’s birth to not be considered skin and bones but her health seemed to have grown alongside her children.  _ I do not fall ill as often as before and when I do, my recovery is quicker.  _ Mayhaps this was why Rhaegar sought her out more often, Elia pondered.  _ Because he fancies that there is more of me now, that he needn’t be so… gentle, as if I am bound to break.  _

Her hips were wider now and her bosom had been pitiful before but now it had filled out as well and she no longer felt half-a-woman.  _ I was never uncomely, I do not think… But next to the likes of Ashara and Cersei Lannister, I still remain but a fly on the wall-- not worth any notice. _ But the Dornishwoman had come to terms with that, it had begun to mean less to her, as she had her children and duties to keep herself content. 

However, with her ever-growing fondness for the very comely knight, in the midst of his prime-- Those creeping feelings of inadequacy had begun to bloom. They made her doubt herself, like she would when the beautiful ladies would shower their attentions upon her husband-- Spitefully flaunting their health, comeliness and ability to bear children.

Would Jaime tire of her? He was seven years her junior, she was a mother of two. The only woman he had ever known was Cersei Lannister, equal to him in beauty. Young men’s objects of interest were fleeting, was that what Elia was destined to be? A momentary fixation to help him on his way to wherever he was going?  _ To replace Cersei, the one thing he could never have?  _

There were so many questions muddling her senses, so she poured a cup of wine and told herself not to think, for thinking usually ended up hurting more.  _ He is the son of Tywin Lannister, _ Ashara’s words echoed. But Elia knew in her heart that Jaime was true when it came to their companionship.  _ I do not think he has even spoken to his father and every time Lord Tywin was mentioned between us… It was not in a positive regard.  _

_ He tortured Jaime for hours to make him read and write properly. Some would call it a father’s love, _ she knew but that did not make it taste any less cruel.  _ I would have put a knife in Rhaegar, were he to have done that to Aegon or Rhaenys or even Aemon. _ The youngest Targaryen prince was not her blood, but she had a duty to keep him safe as well, as brother to her children. He was a quiet child, calm to his very core. 

With the goblet of Arbor Gold in hand, she moved to sit on the armchair in front of the fire, resting her legs on the velvet footstool and sighed as the flames seemed to lick at her skin. The Dornishwoman gazed into the flames as they danced white, blue, orange and yellow-- mesmerizing her. 

_ Some claim to see the future in them, or even the past and present, _ yet Elia had only ever seen fire. _ I am not deluded by visions of grandeur or obsessed with seeing something. _ Some would call her a cynic but would forget that the Dornishwoman had seen firsthand what trusting ambiguous scribbles and visions did to men.  _ It drives them to insanity and obsession, which in turn leads to destruction. And if they have great power? Then true calamity is upon those they rule.  _

A soft knock brought her out her thoughts. It was late, past the hour of the bat, surely. Yet the knock did not seem to originate from the door, but somewhere else. It put the Dornishwoman on edge, unnerving her. Another knock was heard, louder that time and it proved to startle her, therefore she haphazardly reached for the object closest to her, which proved to be the goblet of wine and warily creeped toward where she thought the source of the knocks came from. 

“Elia?” A voice said and though Oberyn would have laughed at her for behaving like a scaredy cat, she yelped and blindly tossed the goblet in the direction of the noise and earned a groan of pain, hearing the object thump against the floor.

“Jaime?” she exclaimed when she turned and saw the poor knight-- Face, hair and white tunic drenched in Arbor Gold, “Gods, forgive me,” Elia apologized, cringing as she saw him clutching the side of his head. 

“It is alright,” he murmured but before she could reply, a louder knock was heard and it came from the door. 

“Your Grace,” a gruff voice called from beyond, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes,” she called shrilly, “I simply dropped my goblet.” 

“Shall we call for a maid?” The voice asked.

“No, it is quite alright, thank you, Ser.” Then, there was silence. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, “And you are drenched in wine, forgive me,” she continued with a frown. 

“Count yourself forgiven,” the knight smiled wryly through his soaked, golden curls.  _ Gods, how much wine was in that goblet?  _

“Come here,” she beckoned instead, showing him an armchair where he could sit down. 

“I will be back,” she murmured, explaining that she was to fetch a basin and a few towels from the bathing room. 

“I will be here,” he replied and the Dornishwoman was on her way, quickly finding the basin and grabbing a handful of towels that laid neatly folded atop a dresser. 

“Why did you have to frighten me so?” Elia asked as she placed the towel and basin on the table beside the drenched knight. 

“It was not my intention,” he exclaimed in a whisper.

“You did such a splendid job of showing your intent and look where it got us,” she snorted, the sound somewhere between a giggle and exclaim of frustration. 

“You are smiling at me again,” he noted, “If being your own personal fool is what it will take, then take to calling me Mushroom.” 

“Out of all the fools, you would like to be the bawdy and salacious Mushroom?” she asked, raising an eyebrow-- finding his statement greatly amusing.  _ He knows his history.  _

“I have a fondness for queens and princesses,” he shrugged, “Careful, I might try to climb up your skirts-- though I fear Mushroom would have the advantage on me with his stature,” Ser Jaime continued, winking but something was troubling the man, she could see. 

“Careful now,” she warned, a slight smirk coating her lips. 

“I would not want to overstep my boundaries,” he said in a mock-solemn voice.  _ Oh, they have already been overstepped and set ablaze, my sweet knight.  _

“Lean back,” Elia said instead and the white knight rose and eyebrow, then shrugging. 

“Well, I do like a woman in charge,” he winked and it confuzzled her, how they could fall straight back into their routines after a storm had ravaged their shores. 

“You will soon earn yourself a clout in the ear,” the Dornish queen cautioned, gently taking hold of his head and beginning to wash the Arbor Gold out of his golden curls that turned a browner color in the water. 

“Was the goblet to the side of my head not enough?” he grumbled, quieting when he saw the look she sent him, yet the corners of his lips quirked up. Elia wished to smile as well, but did not want to give him the satisfaction. 

When the Dornishwoman was done, she urged him to sit up, quickly but gently beginning to dry his hair with the towels. 

“Remove your tunic, it will need to dry and I reckon you’ve no wish to feel it cling so awfully to your skin.” 

“Aren’t you in a rush to undress me?” he asked cockily and Elia found herself sputtering.

“You know that- That’s not what-” 

“-I know,” he began gently, putting a large hand comfortingly atop the one she had on his shoulder, “I was only jesting, My Queen.” 

“Elia,” she told him, as she had many times before, “Elia when we are alone.” It did not make her feel as if only half-a-person when people called her by the name she was given at birth.  _ These titles remove my humanity and make me an entity instead and the prospect is not as enticing as some would believe.  _

“Elia,” Jaime murmured in acknowledgement as he unlaced his tunic and discarded it to the floors, “I’ve a wish to speak with you.” 

“We are speaking now,” she smiled but the knight could not see it, for his back was turned to her, “But say what you will,” the Dornishwoman continued, nearly done drying his damp curls. There was a faint, white scar on the side of his shoulder, she noted.  _ I wonder where he got it from.  _ Elia had been able to tell where each of Arthur and Rhaegar’s perfect imperfections stemmed from. 

“I,” he began, exhaling loudly and then chuckling, “I knew what to say earlier but now that I’ve gotten here, they seem like naught but wind.” 

“Take your time,” she mumbled comfortingly, discarding the towel and running her fingers through his soft, damp curls. 

“Sometimes, that seems like all we do  _ not  _ have,” he let out and the words were mournful to their very cores. 

“Oh, Jaime,” was all she could say, for what words would be of any comfort? 

“I cannot,” he swallowed, “I  _ cannot  _ handle this cool courtesy betwixt us any longer, this rift that separates us. Please-- I’ll do anything for things to go back to the way they were, when I was not an object of disgust to you-- Merely a good companion who may have loved you, even though you did not know.” 

“You will  _ never  _ be an object of disgust to me, Jaime,” Elia replied severely, making sure that her voice did not waver-- that her words were unquestionable, “How could you ever think that?” The Lannister turned his head and met her brown eyes with glassy emerald ones, of his own. 

“The way you looked at me after I told you,” he faltered, “I never want you to look at me like that again,” he sighed wearily. 

“We cannot go back, Jaime, the line has been breached by the both of us.” 

“I love you,” he said, moving to rise, towering above her. She could see how nervous he was by the rhythm of his unsteady breathing. He was not so muscular as Arthur but perhaps equal to her husband, more lean than burly, yet by no means weak. 

“You cannot,” she shook her head, feeling her heart clench and a sob lodge in her throat, “Do you not see? I am a queen of Westeros and you are a knight of the Kingsguard. We are both sworn to serve the king but in different ways. I could never be wholly yours, no more than you could ever be mine. It was simply not in our cards.” 

“I  _ should have  _ wed you,” he shook his head, “All those years ago, I should have noticed you and  _ forced  _ my father to allow me your hand.” 

“Your father would never have bowed to your wishes,” she shook her head, “And you would  _ still  _ have loved Cersei. I would have come second to her.”

“Y-” 

“-Do not bother to deny it, sweet Jaime. Mayhaps your love would have come with the years but as long as she would have remained in Casterly Rock, so would your devotion rest with her.” 

“I do not love her anymore, you  _ must  _ believe me,” he pleaded, placing a hand on her chin and forcing the Dornishwoman to meet his clear, glassy eyes that spoke the language of sincerity. 

“I do, Jaime,” she whispered and cupped the hand he had moved to her cheek. Warm, Jaime was warm and brimming with such adoration it could make the Mother weep. Was anyone ever half so lucky? To be loved in such a fierce way. “But-” Elia was never allowed to finish her sentence, for suddenly; Jaime’s lips were on hers. 

She froze, instead backing away and looking at him with wide eyes, and so it was Jaime’s turn to speak. 

“I-” But Elia did not let him finish that sentence either, for one gives as much as they get and instead; the Dornishwoman cupped his face held him captive in her kiss. There was barely enough air, only Jaime. She’d always wondered if his lips were as soft as she thought and they were, they were. 

Suddenly, Jaime lifted her up into his arms and his lips travelled down to her neck and shoulder as he carried her into what she assumed was the bedchamber, until she opened her eyes and noticed they were going into the direction of the bathing room. 

“Unless you are planning on having a  _ very  _ late bath,” she breathed, “Then you are going in the wrong direction, my sweet fool.” 

“Fuck,” she heard him curse, “Where?” he then asked. 

“Left,” she murmured, hands tangled in his slightly damp, golden hair. 

“Left it is,” he grumbled and finally began moving in the correct direction, stumbling into her dimly lit bedchamber and dropping her on the covers. He appraised her for a few moments, standing by the edge of the bed as she gazed at him through dark lashes. 

“Red suits you,” he murmured, “Gold, even more so.”

“That is only because they are the Lannister colors,” she raised an eyebrow and the man grinned, leaning forward and placing both hands on either side of her. 

“It is the only way you’ll be something akin to mine,” he murmured, lips barely touching the delicate skin on her neck, “It lets me pretend.” 

“Even if only for the night?” She asked hopelessly. 

“Even if only for the night,” he concurred solemnly. 

His hands moved to drag the robe down her arms, softly caressing the skin as he did it and discarding it to the floors when finished. Then, Jaime turned his eyes upon hers as he toyed with the strap of her shift, almost as if asking her if they should proceed. 

“We’ve crossed the line now,” she nodded, “Might as well follow it all the way down to hell.” 

“If this is hell, then who the fuck would want to go to any sort of heaven?” He asked and she had to bite her lip from smiling.  _ I do not know, sweet Jaime. I truly don’t, I only act as if I do. _

When she looked at the man in front of her, she did not think of Rhaegar or Arthur or Cersei. There was only Jaime and how her heart bled with love for him.  _ We will burn for this, I am sure. But now is not the time for such concerns.  _ The knight delicately dragged the shift down and all of a sudden, she felt six-and-ten again, nervous and as if she was not enough. 

The golden-haired knight seemed in an entirely different world and remained quiet, gently brushing away some hair from the nape of her neck. Then, he joined her atop the bed and leaned in so close that their noses were almost touching. 

“Beautiful Elia-- I love you,” he murmured, eyes not straying from hers, “Do love me too? In the way that I do you?” 

Elia never knew when it happened, could never pin-point the exact moment that she fell in love with Jaime Lannister. Was it that night when he’d carried a weeping Rhaenys into her chambers and damned what his sworn brothers thought. Was it each time he would say something so observant and kind-- Things her husband and the arse-wiping courtiers would have to search deep and dark and underneath for, yet it came as easy to her golden knight as breathing. It did not matter now, for she was already irrevocably in love with him. 

And love is cursed. 

“I do,” the Dornishwoman replied sincerely, putting her lips on his feverishly, not pulling away until she was gasping for air, “I love you, Jaime.” 

“Good,” he smiled and his lips found their way to the side of her neck-- Warm, enticing, loving, as if she was a ghost and he had to worship her before daybreak would wash them clean of the night’s sins. 

“Jaime,” she breathed, trying to remain quiet, wary of the guard outside even though Ashara had said they belonged to her. _ No one belongs to anyone and loyalties change as the weight of gold in their pouches do, too.  _ The knight kissed down her breasts and abdomen-- all the way to her thighs and that which laid in-between. 

“I like the way you say my name,” she heard the Lannister say with his head between her thighs, “No one’s ever said it quite like that.” 

“I find myself endeared to the mine sounds upon your lips, as well,” she confessed coyly, letting out a strangled sound as he kissed a particularly sensitive spot. 

“Do you now, Elia?” he asked, crawling up and claiming her lips, gently biting down on her lower one until she hissed. 

“I do, Jaime,” she retorted, clawing down on his back until he groaned, out of pain or pleasure, she knew not. “Now take off your breeches before I do it for you,” Elia continued, words but a mere wicked whisper against his ear. 

“As My Queen commands,” he smirked, frantically working at the laces, golden curls framing his face. 

“I like your hair long,” she breathed, “But perhaps it needs a cut.” 

“Will you cut it for me?” he asked, a devilish glint in his eyes. 

“I could,” she shrugged, “But I cannot make any promises on whether or not you’ll end up looking like a gutter rat.” 

“Will you still love me, then?” he dramatized, acting forlorn, “Even if I look like a rat out of the gutter of King’s Landing?” 

“You will be  _ my  _ gutter rat,” she replied, evenly and that made the knight smile a full and true smile, showing all his pretty little teeth. 

“Alright, you can cut my hair,” he murmured, tossing his breaches somewhere to the side, cupping her face to kiss her, before pulling away, “But I have one request.” 

“What may that be?” the Dornishwoman asked, peering at him through her lashes. 

“No clothing allowed,” he whispered mischievously before entering her, soliciting a gasp. 

“I am sure,” Elia breathed, “That something could be arranged.” 

“Splendid,” Jaime groaned, frantically thrusting and kissing her lips as if she was the very sustenance to life. 

“Faster, Jaime,” she mumbled against his lips, hands alternating between his back and golden hair. 

“Oh, Elia,” he murmured, movements growing ever more erratic and sloppy, making her wrap her legs around his waist. 

After a few moments, though, she felt the familiar feeling of heat between her thighs and Jaime’s soft groan, which did not sound anything like Rhaegar or Arthur’s-- which in turn delighted the Dornishwoman.  _ He is mine and only mine, here.  _

“I’m sorry,” Jaime breathed after he’d spent somewhat prematurely, frowning as he met her eyes, “I thought-” 

“-I understand,” she smiled, caressing his hair. It was enough, even if she did not spend herself.  _ This was not about searching for a release, _ to Elia; It was so much more. 

“I will make it up to you,” he vowed, “Next time.” 

“There will be a next time?” she asked, kissing his forehead.

“I cannot let you go now,” he murmured tiredly, cuddling up against her neck as Elia dragged the covers above them, “I love you too much.” 

“You do underst-” she began hopelessly but he hushed her.

“No talk of those serious matters until the morn, where we will have to face our sins. I do not wish to bespoil this moment, let us keep it pure.” 

“Alright, my love,” Elia kissed the top of his head, feeling the golden curls caress her lips-- Dragging him closer to her. Pretending as if they were man and wife, for the night. A lovely dream that could never be.

“Goodnight, Elia,” Jaime mumbled, half-asleep. 

“Goodnight, Jaime,” came her tired reply. 

And as the blackbirds would sing their song of dawn, so would Elia Martell and her beloved knight wake. 

To face their crimes. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I'm sorry in advance. I can't write steamy scenes for shit.
> 
> Update: Reading some of your comments, I am well aware that there is no pleasing everyone but I've had a clear outline of this story and where I wish to take it, ever since I got the idea at my summer job, this past summer. 
> 
> The point of this from the very start was exactly what GRRM's is with ASOIAf, to show the heart in conflict with itself. I never made any claims to make a perfect character, nor did I have a wish to. My Elia is flawed, not perfect by any means and she will make the right calls, along with the wrong ones-- Mistakes are ingrained in human nature and one can never foresee what the outcome will be. 
> 
> I would surely hope my characters are complex and tinged with a heavy tone of grey because that is what I've aimed for, to show the humanity of destruction, that there is something beneath all the technicalities. I was also drawn to writing this type of story because there really aren't many like it and Elia's character fascinated me and I wished to very much build on that. 
> 
> Having said that; Everyone is entitled to their own opinions, but this story is just warming up to the shit I've planned and I find it a bit harsh when some of you said I wasted potential building up certain relationships and ruined a good story when you've no way of knowing what's to come. 
> 
> It's by no means perfect, I know. I was 16 when I started writing this and I'm no professional but this story is my baby and I stand by it. 
> 
> Thank you to all those who've been with me from the start (and the newcomers)-- The support and recognition this work has gotten never ceases to amaze me and I'm so grateful, you've really no idea. 
> 
> I will end this with a very important note: You cannot analyze this story and the choices made with a 21-century mindset when this is legit set in medieval-esque Europe. There are different values, different ways of thinking and realities that differ from today's world. Women's lives were difficult and there were social codes to live by, etc, etc. Please do not look at it with a mindset reflecting today's world, or you'll get it all distorted and get hung up on the slightest things. 
> 
> I'm rambling but it's late. sorry. 
> 
> I'll see y'all next year.


	20. Above All: Love Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, soon enough you will, my dove,” Elia confessed, “And your friends speak true, Ser Arthur has the features of a Valyrian, yet he is Rhoynar. My husband and him could surely pass as brothers, would they so wish.”  
> “So he is beautiful, as they say?” the red-head inquired, making the Dornishwoman chuckle and her heart hurt slightly as she thought of Arthur Dayne. Comely and chivalrous and beautiful. But he had left her, twice. Betrayed her, twice. Loved her, once. Loves her, still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back with another chapter and buckle up, 'Tis a long one.  
> It's in the middle of the night = It has barely been proof-read.
> 
> Hope you like it, don't forget to leave a kudos and a comment about what you thought, etc, etc. 
> 
> Until next time,  
> <3

  


  


  


When she woke, the Dornishwoman had not yet come to her senses and for a strange moment, she wondered if Rhaegar had returned and that perhaps it was _his_ arms wrapped around her waist, ever so tightly. But no, _I am in Starfall,_ she realised, _and Rhaegar will not be here for at least a few days-- When was it that he would arrive, now again?_ She pondered, completely forgetting the male presence behind her. And then, like freezing ice, it dawned on her. 

_Jaime,_ her eyes widened and she stilled completely, almost not daring to turn around. _Oh, fuck, if we were not in a mess before, we are truly buried in it now._ Elia heard his even breaths, signalling that the knight was still in deep sleep behind her and thought back to the previous eve, forcing every little detail that she could muster out of it. 

_No one could have heard us,_ she told herself, feeling the fear squeeze her heart, _he used a path that very few know of, not even Varys’s birds could be aware of it, surely_ ? Last night felt like a fever dream, so lovely that it simply _could not_ have been real. Yet it was and now dawn had risen, coloring the sky an unbearable yellow on blue, glaring harshly at her sins that twilight had so graciously hidden.

Tears burned behind her eyes as she looked back upon what had occurred-- Not for the act itself but for what it would _do_ to them. This was not the comfortable breed of love, it was the doomed kind, destined to wreak destruction upon everything and everyone, were they to lose their grip on it. _And we cannot lose our grip, not me and certainly not Jaime._ This time, Elia did turn around, slowly and gently. 

His eyes were closed, dark brown lashes feathering out against the top of his cheeks-- Full lips almost pouting. How young he looked, how beautiful, too. The son of the sun, one could have chosen to call him, or at least close kin. The long, golden curls bore proof of that-- wildly spread out over the covers, glimmering like burnished gold where the sun’s rays decided to touch them with its divinity. 

Young men like Jaime were hot-headed, Elia knew. They liked it when things were theirs and loathed sharing. _Well…_ the Dornishwoman pondered, _no man likes to share what he deems his, but it is especially fervent when they are at their peak-- strong and handsome, thinking the world belongs only to them._ Such was the vanity of youth and it could be their downfall, if he was unsuccessful in quenching the scalding blood running through those Andal veins. 

The Dornish queen ached, so deep it touched her bones and went straight into her soul. This was not an ache that could be mended, not in her lifetime. This was the fierce pain of a life doomed to be half-lived. Of a love that was cursed from the moment it began to take root and bloom. Yet had she not walked this road, time upon time before? 

Believe Elia when she said that she loved her white knight, haunted by the same ghosts as herself, and that was _why_ it hurt. Because he was _not_ hers to love, no more than she was his. 

But how wretchedly lovely it was, to have held him, to have known his touch-- However fleeting it was destined to be. 

Jaime seemed to understand her more than anyone in King’s Landing had ever bothered to. _The way Rhaegar appeared to, before the prophecies decided to devour him whole._ In this moment, as she gently caressed Jaime’s cheek with delicate fingers, they were eternal and reality could not lay it’s rotting hands upon them. _But we will have to go outside at some point, and forget all that happened inside._ The thought was cold to the touch, dark and twisting-- like a knife to her gut. 

“Jaime,” she decided to lean in and whisper, knowing the castle was most like awake at that point, for distant commotion could be heard outside. The knight made a soft mewling sound, like a kitten wishing to sleep for longer. _Is that not what lions are? Overgrown cats._

“Jaime,” Elia said again, lips at the base of his ear, long, dark hair tickling his face. 

“Elia,” he groaned, pulling the Dornishwoman’s small frame impossibly closer, burying his face into her neck, making a smile bring its way to the corners of Queen Elia’s mouth.

“You must wake,” she whispered, “Morning has come.” _And with it, we are less than specks of stardust, leftover from the eve covered by moonlight._

“Let me hold you,” came his muffled voice, “Just a little while longer.” Who was Elia to deny the man that simple comfort? _The Gods know when he will be able to again, after Rhaegar arrives, and Arthur today. Fuck,_ she wondered, _what will happen when Arthur arrives?_

“Now you must hide in the place where you came from,” Elia murmured, pulling away from the comely knight and brushing some stray, golden curls from his forehead. 

“I did not know you fancied riddles so much, Your Grace,” he replied, emerald eyes twinkling like little gems. Despite herself, the Dornishwoman smiled with amusement. 

“There are _plenty_ of matters I fancy that you know naught of, Ser. The key is to keep a few to myself, or I will have laid all of my cards on the table without knowing those of my opponent.” 

“Opponent seems a rather _harsh_ word,” the Lannister mumbled and she sighed. 

“A fitting one, for it is a rather _harsh_ world, sweet Jaime.” 

“I am well aware,” he replied grimly, staring into her eyes, hand on her hip, toying with the silk of her nightgown. 

“Now off with you,” Elia whispered, leaning forward to give the knight a quick peck on his lips. 

“So eager to rid yourself of me, I see,” Jaime eyed her and she raised an eyebrow in return. 

“I will order the maids to have a platter of dishes brought up, so that we can break our fast,” she explained, “And therefore, I cannot have a man who is _not_ my husband, laying _naked_ in my bed. It makes for a rather odd scene, would you not agree? And stranger gossip.” 

“I see,” he mumbled, turning to don his clothing. Elia sat up and moved to embrace the man from behind.

“Do not be petulant, Jaime,” she whispered, placing a soft kiss on his neck, “We will eat, then we will talk. I promise.”

“That is _precisely_ the thing,” Jaime sighed wryly, turning to rest his forehead against hers, breathing softly, “Talking signals the end of pleasantries and the beginning of reality.” 

“We were bound to face it, sooner or later,” Elia replied solemnly.

“I know,” he whispered, “I would simply have _preferred_ it to be later.” 

But not everyone could have what they wanted and the world rarely catered to anyone’s preference. The Dornishwoman was aware of that, was Jaime? 

***

Once Jaime had left and taken any hint of a presence with him, Elia called for the servants to bring an array of refreshments, stating that she did not know what she would like yet. The Dornishwoman was the queen and a dear friend of Lady Ashara’s, her word was law. Why should anyone have questioned it? 

After that, she quickly entered her bedchamber and frantically tried to smooth out the pillows, the creases in the sheets, so that no maids would wonder. Yet after having perfected it, she decided that it looked too perfect. _They’ll wonder, surely. No one sleeps that perfectly._ Or perhaps they would think she made the bed herself, but why? Elia was the queen a _nd queens do not clean or deign themselves to perform such dreary chores, it is considered much beneath their position._ Which was exactly why she mussed the sheets up slightly, careful to have the right side remain untouched. 

The maids entered with a platter of dishes, whose contents she could not quite discern, just as Elia finished donning a robe, tying it chastely around her waist.

“Thank you,” she smiled, trying to remain utterly inconspicuous. It was not difficult for the Dornishwoman, having lived in Aerys’s court for so long as she did. _I learned that you could be guilty, even when innocent and that no secret will ever remain hidden for long, so it was best not to put yourself in a position where you could have any._

“Your services will not be needed for the duration of the midday,” Elia told the two maids in front of her, one was old with greying hair and the other was but a young thing, red of hair and blue eyes. 

“Are you sure, m’lady?” the oldest asked, frowning.

“Quite so,” Elia replied, “I have a wish to be alone but will surely call if anything is needed. Otherwise, you can spend the day basking in the sun. It is lovely out.”

“Thank you, m’queen,” the younger, red-haired girl interrupted, beaming. _Perhaps she has a boy she would like to get to, a kitchen-boy or apprentice. This is summer, let them be young._ Like the Dornishwoman had been, once. For a moment, a slight jealousy bloomed within Elia as she gazed at the young girl, so blissfully unaware of her luck. _To not be a queen, to be able to love a man she would like, not tied to anyone. Free._ But the feeling passed as quickly as it came. _Revelling in such matters will only make me a bitter woman, and I am blessed to lead this life of privilege where I do not need to worry over food for my family, gold or comfort._

“You are quite welcome, sweetling,” Elia grinned and the two women duly took their leave, making her sigh in relief as she heard the doors close. Then, she walked over to the plate of food and realised that she was quite famished. There were bowls of fruit and porridge, newly baked bread and cheeses-- Complete with a tankard of what looked to be the juice of freshly pressed blood oranges. 

As Elia absentmindedly reached for a piece of apple and gazed out of the window, nibbling on it-- she felt eerily aware of a presence behind her. _Jaime’s back,_ she thought with a smile that faltered when she mulled over what they would need to discuss. To be sure, it was her white knight, the Dornishwoman knew when he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. 

“You are needier for attention than Rhaenys is on the occasion,” she chided softly but the gesture tore at her heart so gently, until it bled with fondness. 

“The princess commands attention with only a gaze,” he murmured, “Here, I have to take it. How is that fair? To leave me revelling on the ground in agony, waiting for your lightest touch, the merest hint of a caress?” he asked, amusement lacing his words but she knew that he did not find their situation amusing. It was horribly beautiful. To love in a moment where one should not. 

“How theatrical you are, Jaime. Were you not a knight, I would recommend becoming a mummer or a poet, perhaps both. They are both professions for those with a flair for the dramatics.”

“And were you no a queen, you surely would have been a cynic,” he replied, pulling away to face her with a cheeky grin.

“That is no profession, Jaime,” she chuckled, “I can simply be a cynical queen.” 

“Or a pirate princess,” he offered, to which she smiled sadly. 

“In another life, I am sure.” 

“Shall we eat?” he asked, noticing the slightly melancholy air that the room had been enveloped in, “I am starving.” 

“Good, so am I,” she murmured, motioning for him to sit down on the chair by the oaken table, to which he duly did, snatching a piece of bread from the basket when Elia was in the midst of placing it on the table. 

“Manners!” she hissed but could not keep her facade when he took a mouthful of bread and groaned, mumbling of how good it was. _Rhaegar wouldn’t ever have, perhaps Arthur would have, ten years past but surely not now._ As the Lannister devoured his bread, Elia poured some fruit into the bowl of porridge and began taking small bites, positively surprised to find it sweetened with honey. 

“You look divine,” she heard Jaime say after a few moments and looked up from her porridge.

“I do?” Elia asked, words a half-chuckle, “What an interesting observation, I could say the same to you.” She was dancing around the reality of what needed to be said with empty words but it did not change the fact of what they had done. _We need to speak but suddenly, it is so hard to get the words out._

“You do,” he shrugged and leaned forward, stroking her cheek as he looked into her brown eyes, “So pretty that I could just eat you up.” 

“I fear I would not taste very well,” she smiled, “Too much cynicism, as you would put it, it would simply seep into my very pores, cursing you, the consumer, with a pesky outlook for the rest of your days.”

“I am sure I could make do,” the knight mumbled, reaching for her hand and kissing its knuckles tenderly. 

“Eat, Jaime.” 

“I could say the same to you,” he said, eyeing her half-finished porridge, “But I do love it when a woman tells me what to do,” the Lannister concluded, winking. 

After they’d both finished, Elia took to placing the dishes back on the platter, to seem as inconspicuous as possible. _I’d rather have them accuse me of overeating than adultery and fornication, but then again, wouldn’t anyone?_

“You are nervous,” the knight observed gently, “You keep twitching, as if a monster is out to get you.” _The monsters aren’t twisted creatures under our beds any longer, Jaime. They are all around us, pretending to be our friends and confidants._

“Oh, they will be,” she replied darkly, “If they catch the _slightest_ whiff of this.”

“This,” he murmured, emerald eyes gazing into the empty parts of her, assessing, analyzing, concluding, “What exactly is _this?”_ He resembled his father with that look in his eyes. 

“I-” she faltered, “I don’t quite know. Do you?” The knight remained thoughtful for a few moments, finally mutely shaking his head. 

“Come here,” Jaime said suddenly, patting his lap. With a weary sigh, she did as bid and quietly rejoiced as the knight wrapped his arms around her tightly. It made her feel like nothing in the world could touch her. 

“I think this is the first time when I’ve ever encountered a situation in which you _truly_ had no answer for,” he said softly as the Dornishwoman leaned in, to rest her head against his shoulder. 

“You do understand that this is as far as we will be able to go?” Elia inquired, “That _this_ is what we are destined to be? A secret. Hushed exclamations of love that can never set foot outside. From the harsh wall in the North, to the blooming meadows of the reach; we do not exist. But in here, we do.” 

“As long as I can have you,” he murmured, “As long as I can love you and know in my heart that it is true, none of it matters.” The Dornishwoman turned to gaze at him, the handsome face that had seen so many horrors. 

“Will that truly be enough for you?” she asked, “You are young, Jaime. Promises and proclamations come easy to those blessed with youth, yet it is harder to keep them.” 

“Will you stop speaking as if you are a hundred years older than me, Elia?” he exhaled loudly, “You think yourself so old and unworthy, it maddens me! You are not even thirty, years from it in fact. Still young. Still so very fucking young to be _this_ cynical.” She’d riled him with her words, questioned his love _and no man likes to be questioned._

“My _heart_ makes me old, Jaime,” she told him calmly, “The _war_ made me old. _Aerys_ made me old, _Rhaegar_ did too-- This _all_ makes me old and the _only_ thing I wanted; was to be young. Carefree-- Happy,” her voice cracked at the ends.

“You are not happy…” Elia did not know if it was a question or a statement from the knight.

“I am content. That is _all_ a queen can aim for.” 

“What a sorrowful life to lead,” Jaime told her with solemn, green eyes.

“It is all I was offered and I’ve made due.” 

“Does my love not make you happy?” the Lannister asked after a few moments, sounding equal parts petulant and sorrowful, in that way only a young man could. 

“It does,” the Dornishwoman told him sincerely, feeling her throat close and tears burn behind her eyes, “For these moments that we are together. You’ve no idea what joy you bring me, Jaime. How you allow me to forget and escape. Then, reality knocks upon my doorstep, incessant, demanding and wanting to be let in-- To remind me that I can _never_ have you. That _this_ is _all_ I can have, and suddenly there is not enough air or time and the melancholy begs entrance into my heart, once more.” 

“I am so sorry that we could not have more,” Jaime whispered, tightening his hold and kissing the top of her head. 

“This must be an _absolute_ secret, Jaime. No one can under _any_ circumstances be made aware to it.” 

“What if,” the knight faltered weakly, “What if the king would… allow it?” 

“You do not believe those words or you wouldn’t be asking them,” Elia mumbled dejectedly, running her fingers through his golden curls. 

“Why shouldn’t he?” Jaime asked, stronger this time, “He took _another_ wife, started a _war._ He begot a _son_ on her and left you with his _madman_ of a father… He has her now, why would he not be… sympathetic to the situation?” 

_“Sympathetic?”_ she snorted, _“Melancholy_ is my husband’s chosen trait, not sympathy _or_ empathy, though he does not lack it, he has no more than the average man. There is _so much_ more behind this than that.” 

“Then tell me!” Jaime exclaimed, “Tell me _why.”_

“My husband still loves me, Jaime, or so he says. Rhaegar’s fires may be gentler and calmer but they are _not_ weak. Do you think he will take kindly to lords sniggering behind his back and calling him a cuckold? The young, beautiful Rhaegar Targaryen cannot keep his Dornish wife satisfied, so she runs to the youngest member of the Kingsguard for solace and a good fuck,” Elia told the man darkly and her crude words made the knight wince. 

“I-”

“-Oh, I am not quite finished. Rhaegar is a man, like any other and he loathes to share his toys, which is all women are in this world. Objects to be owned, mounted, disciplined,” she began, clearing her throat before continuing, “My husband did not like the way that Lord Monford spoke to me, you know?” 

“What did he say?” Jaime asked, perplexed. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Rhaegar simply deemed that his interests were not pure and told me to be careful around him.” _It has been so long, I can barely recall the words,_ “Perhaps he was too flirtatious but men at his age are, at least those blessed with beauty and Lord Monford does not lack it.” 

“Warms the heart to hear,” Jaime mumbled dryly and she pinched his arm. 

“Ow!” the knight exclaimed, “That fucking hurt!” 

“You know what I meant, do not be smart,” she rolled her eyes, to which he cracked the slightest of smiles. _This is not the time for smiles, my love._

“Fine.” 

“So do you see, Jaime? If my husband disliked that, how do you imagine he would react when he finds out that you had your cock in his wife? A knight sworn to celibacy-- the shield of his daughter’s?” The Lannister moved to speak but she continued anyway, “And let us imagine for a _slight_ second that he _would_ allow it; there simply is no way of knowing. We only have the inclinations to go on but should we risk our heads for it?” 

“The king would not order your head. He loves you.” Jaime was toying with her robe, pulling it down her shoulders and caressing her shoulders. 

“He could order yours, to appease the petty lords. The truth will not matter. What _will_ matter is that to them; justice was done. That someone lost their head for the crime of loving. I will not let that happen, Jaime.” 

“We are in quite an impossible situation, then,” Jaime smiled wryly, dragging one of the straps to the nightgown, down her shoulder, leaning in to place soft kisses on the exposed skin.

“They seem to follow us, everywhere we go,” she breathed, clutching his head to her body but remembering the severity of the situation. _We cannot afford to be distracted so easily, we must map this out._

“Behave,” she told him, “I fear now we must work, instead of play.” 

“I am all ears, Your Grace,” the knight murmured, leaning back to look at the woman in front of him. Elia adjusted herself in his lap and spoke. 

“We must behave inconspicuously from hereon, as if nothing’s changed. No touching, _nothing_ that can even _imply_ that we are familiar with each other in ways that a queen and her knight should not be.” 

“Alright,” Jaime nodded, “I can do that.” 

“And you will _have_ to share me,” she murmured, looking down. _I feel like a whore in a brothel,_ “With Rhaegar,” Elia cleared her throat, analyzing his reaction with sharp, dark eyes.. 

“You care for him still, do you not?” Jaime asked with a frown, “After all he did to you.” 

“He is the father of my children, Jaime. I still love him in some strange way but I am _in_ love with you,” Elia told him, sincerity carving every word like a bloody dagger.

“Okay,” the knight murmured but there was an edge to his words, as if her answer did not please but he had no wish for a pesky quarrel.

“You _still_ care for your sister,” she pointed out, trying to make him understand when she barely understood it herself, “You still _love_ Cersei.”

“Not in _that_ way.” 

“But in _some_ way,” Elia exclaimed, “It is not so different.” They’d reached an impasse. Past lovers haunting the present. 

“And that means you cannot interfere beyond the ordinary. Do you recall when… when Aerys would do those horrible things to the Dowager queen?”

“Yes,” Jaime said quietly, a haunted look in his eyes, “I could not stop it.” 

“As you will not be able to stop anything Rhaegar does either.” 

“If he hurts you, I cannot… I cannot just stand by and watch!” There was ice in the knight’s voice, like a buried storm. 

“You _will,”_ Elia told him, hard as stone, “If he _kisses_ me, you will stand by and watch. If he _yells_ at me, you will stand by and watch. If we _argue_ and you fear he may hurt me, you will stand by and watch. If he _does_ hurt me, you will stand by and watch.” Though she knew deep within that Rhaegar would not hurt her in such a way. _He does not think it is becoming to strike a woman, even less so since he had to watch his father abuse his mother._ Jaime’s mouth was set in a grim line and even though she would not succeed in garnering a response, she knew that he would obey. “You will, Jaime,” Elia repeated, softer this time. 

“When will we meet, how will we gather the time and find a place?”

“So eager to bed,” she sighed in jest, trying to lighten the darkening mood-- Causing the otherwise slightly arrogant knight to flush.

“No-- I did not mean-- I would not-- Well of course I would li-” 

“Do not fret my words, Jaime. ‘Twas only a jest, an ill-timed one at that,” Elia murmured darkly, leaning in to stroke his cheek. 

“And to answer your question,” the Dornishwoman began, “I do not know. When the king arrives, when we travel to the North and retire to King’s Landing-- It will change and... I fear Varys and his birds,” she whispered.

“So all we truly have are these days on Starfall, before the king arrives?” 

“Yes,” she replied, “It is not nearly enough, but all we have for now. Perhaps there will be occasions where I can sneak you into my chambers in King’s Landing-- under the guise of helping me but they will be few and far in-between.” 

“I see,” Jaime murmured thoughtfully and Elia thought it a decent time to pose the question. Was this a life he would like to lead? Would he like his old one back? The one characterized by duties? 

“Is this what you would like to embark upon, Jaime? A life of uncertainty? You must consider it gravely.” 

“What is it you are saying?” he asked, “Are you _offering_ me an out? Do you _want_ an out?” Her knight looked to have paled. 

“I love you,” she said tearfully, “But also enough to let you go, should this not be what you crave.” _Perhaps it would be kinder that way, to the both of us._

“I am not a child, Elia, stop speaking to me as if I am!” he exclaimed, “I know _very well_ what this is! I am not foolish. I _will_ chance the risk of loving you, it is what you fucking deserve. To have someone risk something for you, for once in their _pitiful_ lives.”

“Are you sure?” she whispered, absentmindedly wondering why anyone in their right mind would risk their life for her. 

“Entirely fucking certain,” he whispered, hands moving deftly up her thighs, “Now enough of the talking. You’ve made me sufficiently weary for a lifetime.” 

_Alright,_ Elia thought, stroking his hair out of his eyes and removed the final strap to her gown, making the shift pool at the base of her stomach and Jaime’s eyes go impossibly wide. 

“You did say enough of the talking,” she smiled slightly and kissed him as if she could not breathe. 

For she could not. 

Deep inside. 

A perpetual drowning of sorts. 

***

“How did you sleep?” Ashara asked, smiling beautifully, “You rose quite late.” Ashara was the sort of person that had a teasing air about them, it did not necessarily mean that they knew something you did not or had a laugh at your expense. It was just in the way they moved, ingrained into their very being. 

Elia wished to tell Ashara of Jaime, so very much that she was almost bursting at the seams, yet something stopped her, choking her each time the words were about to escape her lips. 

It was not a kindness to make Ashara, a new mother aware of the treasonous escapade. _If I burn, I will not take her with me into the flames. The less she knows, the better._ Of course the Dornishwoman had shared her love for Jaime with Ashara, but it was another thing to tell that she had _committed_ treason, to burden the Lady Dayne with that kind of knowledge. _Words are wind, but actions manifest into the very ground._

“Well,” Elia smiled, hoping that Ashara could discern from her eyes, what remained unsaid, “And I wish to thank you for my chambers, I know that you must have spent quite some time perfecting it and it is lovely, Ash.”

“It was nothing, Elia,” Ashara waved off, purple eyes twinkling, “You, of all, deserve to have some consideration put into your stay. It was the least I could do. However, I cannot say my brother or your husband will face the same kind of kindred hospitality,” the Lady Dayne winked. 

“How _wicked_ you are,” Elia grinned, reaching out to place a pastry on her plate.

“You do love it when I am,” Ashara murmured, nibbling on her apple tart.

“I do,” the Dornishwoman beamed, leaning back into her chair and enjoying the soft breeze of Starfall. 

“Speaking of my brother and your husband,” Ashara began, “Arthur will arrive alongside the king, for apparently he was involved in a minor mishap during a sparring match with Oberyn.” 

“ _Oh,_ ” Elia said, sharing a look with Lady Dayne that spoke of how it was most likely not a mishap on Oberyn’s behalf, and the funny part was that, Arthur most like knew it himself. “Well is he alright?” she continued, frowning.

“Oh, yes,” Ashara waved off, “He injured his leg or something of the sort and the maester advised bed-rest for a few days, so as to prevent any further damage. The king thought it wise to keep him in Sunspear.” 

“You do not seem very worried,” Elia raised an eyebrow as Ashara snorted. 

“It is _Arthur,_ he always manages to be alright and quite frankly,” she leaned in, “He kind of deserved it.” 

“I do hope he recovers quickly, it is a shame he will have to spend less time than intended here. I know he was very excited regarding the prospect of travelling here.” 

Lady Dayne’s haunting, purple eyes softened this time, for the woman did love her brother, “He will, Elia, I promise and besides, you will visit more times. This is only the beginning” 

“Yes,” the Dornishwoman agreed, changing the subject, “The weather is lovely this day.” 

“It is,” Lady Dayne agreed and turned to look at the horizon as well, purple eyes ethereal in the light. She was so beautiful but did not suffer from the vanity that those blessed with comeliness often did, and it made her all the more lovely. _I hope that Rhaenys grows to be as enchanting a person as Ashara is._

“What do we have planned for the coming days?” Elia asked, stirring her iced milk and taking a sip.

“For today… I thought that we might give the children a chance to settle in and explore, but tomorrow I thought we might stargaze. The maester says it will be a lovely eve and I can have the kitchens pack some sweets and pastries to accompany us.” 

“Oh that sounds splendid, Ash,” Elia exclaimed, “Viserys will be so pleased.” 

“He is an interesting boy, to be sure… I would have expected a prince of the blood with his breed of father to be incessant, arrogant and spoiled but he is so different.”

“My good-mother tried to shield him as best she could from his father’s madness and it left him slightly coddled but he is such a clever boy and the way he dotes on Aegon and _especially_ Rhaenys warms my heart,” Elia explained, a fond smile gracing her features, “He is gentle and patient, like his mother.” 

“He is very fond of you, Elia,” Ashara said gently, “He joined me for a stroll in the yards last night-- I invited him along for the stars were delicately gracing the night-sky and he spoke so much of wanting to witness it during supper.” 

“That was good of you,” the Dornishwoman told her friend warmly. Vivid, violet eyes met Elia’s brown ones, equal in warmth.

“He spoke highly of you and even wondered aloud why his brother would take another wife when he had a woman such as you.” 

“Prophecies,” the Dornishwoman replied, lips pursed, “A hard cock, not loving me enough or too much-- Perhaps a mixture of all four. Yet it is done and cannot be undone, all it will do is befoul my thoughts and bitter my heart-- So I do not enjoy dwelling on it.” 

“If only all could have your kind spirit and clever wit, the world would be all the better for it. Alas…” Lady Dayne murmured. 

“Enough of those wretched matters,” Elia forced herself to smile, “I am so pleased to be here with you again, Ash. It has been too long and I’ve missed your mischievous presence.” 

“Sometimes it’s hard to recall,” Ashara began, turning her head to stare at the sky, violet eyes glazed over with the past, “The people we used to be. Young, happy and carefree. The world was so much simpler back then.” 

“It was,” The Dornish queen agreed, recalling the nights they would sneak past the guards of Starfall, to spend a night under the stars. _Ashara, Oberyn, Arthur and I,_ “When I was only a princess and not a queen.” 

“When I was in love with Oberyn and you with Arthur,” the beautiful lady smiled sadly, “None of it worked out the way we wished it to.” 

“Yet we would not trade it for the world, would we?” Elia pondered, thinking of her children and that even if she had known the outcome of her wedded life-- She would still have gone ahead with it. _He gave me Aegon and Rhaenys,_ for that she would be eternally grateful.

“No, I suppose not,” Ashara agreed, “After all; I received Naella.” 

“Such a sweet thing, she is. The image of her mother, she will be a great beauty.” 

“I wish for her to be kind and gentle, like you,” Ashara told the Dornishwoman sincerely, wiping her fingers on the napkin.

“You are too kind, Ashara,” Elia smiled at her friend, “W-” she began but was silenced by a familiar squeal. 

“Mama!” Rhaenys called, holding her uncle’s hand but letting go to run into her mother’s arms. 

“My love,” Elia smiled, embracing her daughter, kissing the girl’s head “How joyful you are this day.” 

“Vissy says he’s going to take me to the library and read me a book,” the princess shared eagerly. 

“Only if that is alright,” the Targaryen prince murmured shyly and Elia put Rhaenys down, opening her arms for the young boy, “Of course it is, Viserys,” she murmured enveloping the prince in a warm hug, leaning back to kiss his forehead. 

“Is that my little Aegon?” Elia asked the youngest prince standing by the septa, next to young Naella, babbling excitedly with the girl. What he was saying, she could not make out. _I am sure they are having a conversation of the highest intellectual degree, the rest of us may simply be too foolish to comprehend it._

“Mama,” the silver-haired prince looked up and wobbled over to his mother, reaching his arms up as a sign that he would like to be carried up into her embrace. Ever weak for her son, Elia indulged the child and kissed the top of his head. 

“How I’ve missed you, little one.” 

“I am _not_ little,” her youngest complained, earning a laugh from all the adults present. From the distance, the Dornish queen spotted Ser Jaime walking up to them, grinning from ear to ear. Handsome and golden in all white.

“Of course not,” she played along, “Soon you will be as big as your father, is that not right Lady Ashara.” 

“Oh yes,” the Dayne agreed with enthusiasm, leaning in to whisper, “Even bigger!” to the young prince, making him squeal in delight. 

“Naella,” Ashara called, earning the girl’s curious attention, “Come and greet the queen, my sweet.” Duly, the girl wobbled over with her septa and Elia handed a reluctant Aegon into Ashara’s embrace, but he soon settled and delighted in the Lady Dayne’s attention. 

“Hello, little one,” the Dornish queen greeted, taking the girl into her arms and earning a giggle. 

“Pretty,” Naella mumbled as she stroked the Dornishwoman’s cheek with a tiny hand. 

“You are _undoubtedly_ prettier,” the queen smiled and the compliment made the young girl hide her face in the crook of Elia’s neck, which made her mother chuckle. 

“She is terribly shy on the occasion, it seems to come in bouts,” Ashara explained as she stroked the youngest prince’s back comfortingly. 

“Isn’t Lady Ashara spoiling you, Aegon?” the Dornishwoman asked her son, beaming-- The prince simply did what Naella had done to Elia, hid his face in the crook of Lady Dayne’s neck. 

“He seems utterly enthralled by you, Ash,” she chuckled, “As he should be.” 

“The prince is a sweet thing,” her companion replied, kissing the silvery curls adorning Aegon’s head, careful to avoid the word ‘little’, lest the young prince grow wroth.

She could spy Rhaenys and Viserys standing by Jaime, _he is telling them a story, I think._ The young prince and princess seemed awestruck by what the knight was saying and the way Jaime animatedly told his tale, made her snort.

“Are we amusing you, My Queen?” Came the knight’s voice and from the corner of her eye, she saw Ashara’s infectious grin. 

“Not at all, I was simply thinking that perhaps you should have been a mummer, rather than a knight,” came her witty reply, echoing their earlier conversation, “It seems you have the natural skill for it.” 

“I am a man of many skills,” he confessed dramatically, making Lady Ashara snort and the septa crack a smile “Such is my burden.” 

“Well _do_ go on with your burden,” Elia chuckled, “Your audience eagerly awaits.” 

“I will, Your Grace,” he saluted her and resumed his conversation with Prince Viserys and Princess Rhaenys, once more.

Elia wished that they would always remain like this.

But it was a foolish dream.

Yet in the moment, it was sweet as the ripest peach.

***

“Thank you,” Elia told the same maids as earlier as they finished filling the ornate tub with warm water, “You are dismissed, I will call when the tub is due to be removed.” 

“Alright, m’queen,” the red-headed girl curtsied and was she not the prettiest little thing? _Sweet, fresh-faced and blessed with youth. That is what Jaime should be drawn to, not a wizened crone such as I, who only seems to bleat words of sorrow and despair._

Once they had departed her chambers, the Dornish queen gracefully untied her scarlet robe and discarded it onto the marble floors, stepping into the rose-scented water, sighing in bliss as the heat enveloped her skin. It was peaceful, bathing. To get lost in the water and not think of one’s problems for a few moments. To simply exist and have that be enough. 

Expertly, Elia washed her long, dark hair and body, resigning to leaning against the tub, her head slightly over the edge. Then, she closed her eyes and rejoiced in the air of dusk, the distant sounds from outside the window, how the sun had tinted the sky orange and then purple, promising a night of stars.

A soft shuffling of feet across the marble floors reached her ears, which caused a soft smile to form, widening it as warm hands cupped the sides of her face and tender lips pressed against hers. 

“You are _incessant,”_ the Dornishwoman told her knight, opening dark eyes to meet ones of glimmering emerald.

“Perhaps,” Ser Jaime smiled, walking to crouch by the edge of the tub as Elia straightened, turning to look at the man appraisingly. 

“How _scandalous_ of you to interrupt a woman in her bath,” Elia chided falsely, raising an eyebrow as the Lannister mirrored her gaze. 

“That is not the only scandalous thing I am able to do. In truth, I have quite a talent for them,” he shared keenly, moving to roll up the sleeves of his tunic. 

“Do you now?” she asked evenly, eyeing him with interest. 

“I do,” the knight leaned in, caressing her cheek with one hand and submerged the other one into the water, lightly moving to trace her bare skin. 

“You could lose your hand for that,” Elia leaned in to whisper against his ear, placing a kiss just below, on the soft skin of his neck. 

“A worthy sacrifice,” the golden-haired man shrugged, causing her to scoff. 

“That is your sword-hand. The famed, golden lion-- Jaime Lannister without the proper tools to wield a sword. What would people say?” she tsk-tsked. 

“It would not matter what they would say,” he breathed, leaning over to place tender kisses on her neck, “They are but sheep.” 

“You’re getting wet, Jaime,” she replied, almost choked for words.

“It seems I am,” he agreed, withdrawing to untie the laces of his white tunic, “But that can easily be remedied.” And then, he discarded it onto the pale, marbled floors, showing the skin that was no longer pale, but a golden beige. Warm, like hers. _Like the color of his hair and summer and peace._ Jaime leaned forward, barely brushing his lips over hers.

“Well?” Elia whispered, standing up in the tub to make room for the knight to enter, droplets cascading down her body like a slow waterfall, reducing her to little more than a siren, which the seamen were terribly fond of telling tales about. “Are you going to step in or not?” 

Eagerly, the knight nodded and frantically began removing his breeches, finally succeeding and stepping into the large, ornate tub but instead of sitting down, he simply stood towering in front of her. There was something in his eyes, something that gleamed and burned through her, so intensely that the Dornishwoman had no choice but to look in the other direction. However, Jaime gently turned her head to face him. 

“I am yours to do with as you will. From this day, until the end of my days,” he vowed but had he not made these promises before? To his sister, the beautiful Cersei Lannister who became a Baratheon. 

“What a terrible power,” she whispered, wrapping delicate arms around his waist and resting her head against his chest, feeling the thumping of his heart-- the erratic, tell-tale beat of love. 

“But also great,” he murmured against the top of her head, holding her tightly in place, body on body as if they were one. 

“Sit down,” Elia bade the knight, smiling softly as he did as she asked, but tugging on her arm, pleading for company. “You are an insatiable, petulant little thing.” she shook her head, seating herself on his lap, leaning in to kiss the knight’s cheek.

“You wound me, Your Grace,” he mumbled dryly, “Choice parts of me do not share your special kind of wit.” 

“How tragic,” the Dornish Queen pouted, adjusting herself in his lap, earning a sharp breath and arms pulling her closer. 

“Patience,” she whispered, putting her lips on his, earning a groan, “I’ve a story to tell. You are fond of those, are you not?” 

“Depends on the tale,” he shrugged, “The more sordid and salacious, the more intrigued I find myself,” the knight finished with a wink, earning himself an amused shake of the Dornishwoman’s head. 

“It is one that Queen Lyanna told me, with roots in the North.” The thought just came to her, perhaps she saw them in that old piece of heresy or maybe it simply came down to chance, that her mind should wander to those dark places. 

“I see,” he replied, something unknown swivelling in those emerald orbs, seeming to drown the Lannister alive. 

“Alright,” Elia mumbled, leaning back to touch the sides of his face with her hands, adoring the beauty, burning the image into her mind and keeping it there. For when would they ever have a moment like that again? When would they ever look half-so-lovely as then? Memories are the sustenance of our mind, the grains keeping us sane, keeping us human. For without memory, what would men be, but beastly savages with no thought for the past or present or future? It is vital to remember, in order to feel. Though by all accounts, memories can be a curse, as well as a blessing. However, they are a _necessity_ to life.

“Go on,” Jaime bade her, words but a shallow breath as she felt his chest rising and falling like the tide. 

“There was a man,” she began, stroking the perspiring beads of water away from his neck with her hand, “A fierce warrior, the thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch… Which I assume you’ve heard of?” Elia asked the knight, smiling wryly. 

“Considering that only a few years ago, I was forced to decide between _that_ and a decent posting in King’s Landing, I am well acquainted with those poor, celibate bastards,” he breathed. _Has it really been that long?_ The Dornishwoman’s thoughts drifted… _Aegon was not even one when Rhaegar returned, now he is three._

“You should not be so harsh, Jaime,” she chided, dainty hand trailing down the hard planes of his chest to between his legs, earning a strange sound indeed, “You, of all, should have compassion, considering your life is sworn to celibacy as well.” 

“Only the Gods can keep all their vows,” the knight proclaimed, “We are only human. We swear one vow, we forsake another. What matter does it make, are we not doing our part anyway? Do we not deserve a pause from all the duties, all the requirements, to just be?” His large hands drifted down her back in a gentle movement, pushing her closer to him, and him closer to her-- inside her. 

“Oh, Jaime,” sighed softly, “You’ll spoil the telling of the tale.” 

“No one is stopping you,” he smiled wickedly, worrying his bottom lip with the top of his teeth. Elia leaned forward, lips brushing against the base of his ear, “Lyanna told _me_ that her old nan told _her_ that he was a Stark of Winterfell, younger brother to the ruling king.” 

“Was he now?” Jaime asked impatiently, hands on her hips as if pleading to the Gods for her to move, before he would perish. 

“As perfect as he was, his downfall proved to be a woman he spotted from atop the wall,” the Dornishwoman confessed, beginning to kiss the skin below his ear, down to the base of his neck and shoulder.

“Of course I should have known that a woman would have something to do with that,” her knight chuckled, wry amusement lacing the impatient words.

“Very funny,” she replied, biting his shoulder lightly, earning a hiss and the tightening of his hold on her hips. 

“Alright,” Jaime fussed, “Continue your tale, woman.” 

“I will,” she grinned, moving to meet his restless gaze and half-lidded eyes. Deciding to put him out of his misery, she began to move teasingly, lips barely brushing against his as she spoke again. “Her skin was as pale as the moon and her eyes like stars of blue. The man--enchanted-- proved to be as fearless as his repute, chasing her, catching her… loving her.” 

“Mhm,” Jaime mumbled eagerly, catching her lips in a bruising kiss, urging her up and down with his hands.

“And he adored her, even though her skin was cold as ice,” Elia breathed against the knight’s lips, hands in his hair, moving more urgently against the man’s hips. “But when he gave her his seed, he forfeited his soul as well-- Bound to the strange woman as fair as moonglow, for as long as he would draw breath. Lyanna was not quite so sure the woman did… draw breath, that is.” 

“Could you mayhaps not mention that girl as I am-,” Jaime Lannister paused, groaning softly as the Dornishwoman rolled her hips, “-As _you_ are making me _very_ happy,” he chose to finish his sentence instead. 

“Well.. I suppose I am a benevolent queen,” she panted, amusedly observing the knight lean his head back against the edge of the tub, emerald eyes closed in bliss. The golden curls had turned brownish in the water, but spilled slightly below his shoulder deliciously. 

“Very benevolent,” he quipped but the sound was drowned out by their soft pants and moans, careful not to make too much sound, as to prevent suspicion to arise. 

“He brought her back to the Nightfort and proclaimed her queen and himself, king. They say that he bound his sworn brothers to his will with strange, wicked sorceries,” Elia breathed, moving her hands to his chest, burying her nails in the delicate skin, making Jaime gasp and put his hands atop hers, swaying any further assaults.

“And you are attempting to perform blood magic or something of the sort, as you are telling me this tale?” He asked, amused. _But he likes it,_ Elia knew from the flush on his cheeks, the way every nerve of his being seemed to stand on edge, eagerly awaiting what was yet to come. 

“Maybe I _am_ a witch,” Elia replied airily, before continuing the story and moving against him more fiercely, feeling the harsh tightening of his hold on the handles of her hips. It was intoxicating, euphoric even. In these moments alone with Jaime, she truly felt alive. As if there was no past or presence or future haunting either of them. There was only a queen and her knight and it was _enough._

“Then I am doomed, but oh, how sweet my demise shall be,” he groaned, leaning forward to capture her lips, tugging on the lower one.

“For thirteen years,” she gasped in-between kisses, feeling a pressure build up, fogging her mind, “They ruled together as the Night’s king and queen-- with strange, dark and such horrible things occurring that his brother had to intervene with a man named Joramun, to slay that wayward brother of his and the corpse queen. Thusly, the Night’s Watch was free again,” Elia concluded the story, increasing her erratic pace further, aware of the water spilling over the tub onto the marble floors. _I will clean it up with a towel later, it is fine._

Then, she felt the familiar feeling of a man spending between her thighs, accompanied by Jaime’s sweet, dazed uttering of her name. And so, his tight hold on her hips loosened but she was not quite at that crushing, fleeting peak that seemed to make _everything_ into _nothing_ for a few short moments. Elia always hated it when the feeling left her, for it was always too soon. So much but not enough at the same time. Though the drowsy low was always comforting enough, if one did not have other matters to attend to. 

When it did decide to appear, she simply sank down to embrace the golden Jaime Lannister, who accepted her gently, with one hand on the back of her head, and the other neatly supporting her lower back. 

“I love you,” he whispered against her ear, “But why this certain story? Do you think yourself the Night’s queen? That you lured me in and ensnared me so tightly in your intoxicating grasp?” 

“I do not know,” she mumbled, placing a kiss on his shoulder, “Perhaps… Yet still, even though I am a queen… My vanity does not stretch to such altitudes nor would I ever presume to be such a mystical, intriguing woman, half-living and half-dead. I am quite ordinary, it’s only the crown on my head making me divine,” she murmured wryly.

“Everything _but_ ordinary _,”_ Jaime exhaled, “And I chose this of my own accord. I all-but forced you to, did I not?” he asked sadly, “Like that Lord Commander did, seeking out a woman he had no right to, catching her, loving her-- Damning them both.”

“Perhaps I _have_ taken your soul,” Elia idly wondered, earning a snort from the knight, feeling his chest rise with a chuckle. 

“Yes, _before_ or _after_ you took my seed? Technicalities,” Jaime tsk-tsked,”Such terribly dull things but they are needed to make connections.” 

“Don’t be cocky, Jaime,” she chided drowsily, feeling pleasurably spent.

“That might prove difficult,” he whispered with the arrogance of youth, kissing the top of her head and stroking her back. In those moments, the Dornishwoman truly wished they would have been man and wife. That she would have been able to spend her entire life, if she so wished, in the arms of that arrogant, witty knight who made her forget the grief of her past, if only for a few moments. 

“We are _not_ them,” he whispered soothingly, “Our ending will not be so tragic, doomed from the very start.” How could the Lannister make such promises, or perhaps be so naive? 

“And your skin is of the sun, not the moon-- the same color as mine, now.”

“Joined as one,” she murmured tiredly, turning her head to leave tender kisses on the side of his neck, just underneath his jaw. 

“Your eyes are not blue stars either, they are bronze-- Gentle and kind and loving,” he murmured, beckoning the Dornishwoman to gaze at him through her lashes, with a tug on her waist. “And most importantly; you are _warm,_ not cold. There is no wicked darkness in your heart spellbinding me. You are the _embodiment_ of alive-- There could not be a more stark difference from that cold queen you speak of and yourself.” 

“Are you not honeyed of tongue, my knight?” Elia asked, ensnaring him in a lazy kiss, with which he seemed to have no quarrels. 

“I could put it to other use, if it please Your Grace,” he whispered, causing her to snort. 

“Have you not had your fill of these… sordid and salacious activities, as you would call them?” The Dornish Queen asked, amused by the words. 

“Oh,” the knight shook his head, emerald eyes following hers intensely, “One could never have quite enough of those, especially not with a woman such as you.”

“How you flatter me, kind Ser,” she smiled, “Were I not already naked, perhaps I would have graced you with an abashed blush.” 

“Grace me with what you’d like,” Jaime shrugged and began kissing down the Dornishwoman’s neck, making her grasp the damp curls atop his head. 

“The water has gone cold,” Elia announced after a few moments of breathlessness, “We should get out, lest we catch the chill.”

“Am I allowed to share your bed this eve, once more?” Jaime asked, almost shyly and she nodded, beaming.

“Of course. Who else shall keep me warm and content?” 

“Good,” the knight returned her grin and Elia rose, elegantly exiting the tub and wrapping one of the towels laid out around her body.

“Will you be so kind as to dry my hair with that one?” she asked as Jaime got out and wrapped a towel around his waist, as well. 

“Yes, I will be,” he allowed, smirking and grabbing the smaller towel off of the hanger, beginning to dry her hair. 

“That feels pleasant,” the Dornishwoman murmured as the knight massaged through her long waves with great skill. 

“I will make you feel _better,”_ he vowed with a chaste kiss against her shoulder, “Now it's your turn,” Jaime pointed to his hair and handed her the towel. 

“Bend down, you great oaf,” she hissed, trying to conceal her grin, “How do you expect me to reach?” 

“A lot of confidence from someone who barely reaches my shoulders, would you not say, My Queen?” He asked teasingly but got down on his knees and allowed the dainty Dornishwoman to dry his golden curls. 

“Behave,” she murmured when he pulled her towel down to her waist and buried his face against her chest, leaving a trail of small kisses.

“Will you punish me most wickedly if I do not?” he asked and the Dornishwoman felt him smile against her skin. 

“Perhaps…” she allowed, “Or you will simply be forced to spend the night in your own, cold bed as I deliciously reflect upon certain events.” The knight withdrew and looked up at her face then.

“Surely you would not be so cruel and torturous?” Jaime asked, playing along to their little mummer’s farce. 

“In many ways, a woman does not need a man,” Elia shared idly, continuing to dry his hair, feeling him pull her closer, leaving more bruising kisses. 

“I will die for you to need me,” he breathed, causing her to smile.

“Do not be so dramatic, my love.” 

Once both were dry and dressed, Elia bid her knight off with a kiss, telling him to return at the turn of two hours, when the maids and servants would have been dismissed entirely. She had chosen a golden shift made out of silk, with black embroidery of vines and flowers on the sides, accompanied with a robe of the same color. 

“I fear I accidentally spilled some water when washing my hair,” Elia apologetically told the maid who remained to clean up her and Jaime’s mess, feeling slightly guilty as she observed, leaning against the entrance to the bathing room. 

“It is what I’m paid to do, M’queen,” the girl smiled, the same red-headed thing from earlier. 

“What is your name?” she asked kindly, met by guileless eyes of blue. A calm blue, not icy or bright or consuming-- The perfectly serene one that inspired trust, deep and gentle, like the depths of the ocean. 

“Talisa, M’queen.” 

“And how old are you, Talisa?” Elia inquired softly, thinking that the girl could surely be no older than five-and-ten, for she looked so young. 

“Six-and-ten, m’queen,” she smiled shyly, to Elia’s surprise.

“On the cusp of womanhood then,” the Dornishwoman acknowledged, “How did you choose to spend your break earlier? With a handsome kitchen boy, perhaps, conversing in the midday sun?” Elia teased lightly, feeling a warmth choke her heart as the girl blushed. _That used to be Arthur and I-- Innocently in love until the game was no longer pure._

“N-No… But...” the girl stuttered, rising from the floor, as she was finished cleaning-- Wiping her hands on her apron. 

“Ah,” Elia grinned, “There is a but. You must surely tell me all of it, will you join me for a few cakes and a cup of wine?” 

“If that would please My Lady,” Talisa replied shyly and the Dornishwoman was struck with the feeling that… _Perhaps I am being too incessant?_

“You can decline if you so wish, my dove. It has been so long since I was your age and thought that it would be intriguing to walk the cobblestones of youth with someone who is still young.” 

“But surely you are not old, M’queen,” the red-head frowned, “You are young, like me.” 

“Not quite,” Elia smiled wryly, “Perhaps in body. In spirit, my mother always told me that I resembled an old, grumbling maester.” 

Talisa giggled sweetly, “You do not look like an old maester.” 

“I fear my husband would not wish to consort with me, if I did,” Elia chuckled, bidding the girl to sit down and pouring her a cup of wine. 

“Thank you,” Talisa murmured, taking a sip.

“Help yourself to some orange-cake as well,” the Dornishwoman urged, cutting herself and the girl a slice, placing it on the plates. 

“It is very good,” the girl mumbled after having taken a bite, brushing some stray locks of red hair behind her ear. 

“Truly,” Elia agreed pleasantly, “Now tell me of that ‘ _but_.’ Are you in love with a handsome knight or lord or kitchen-boy?” Talisa’s cheeks reddened once more and she took a sip of the wine before replying. 

“Not a kitchen boy or a lord,” she shook her head.

“Oh, so it is a knight? How delightful,” Elia exclaimed supportively, thinking that perhaps they shared more in common than one would think. _Twice I loved a knight, myself._

“He-he does not know of me, though and too prestigious to notice.” 

“Now, now, do not say that,” Elia soothed, “You are a beautiful, lovely girl and more the fool him, if he does not see that.” 

“You are too kind, M’queen,” Talisa murmured, meeting the Dornishwoman’s brown gaze with a blue one, filled with the guilelessness of summer. 

“I am truthful,” she replied, taking a sip of the Dornish wine and smiling gently, “But who is he? Anyone I might have happened upon?” Thinking that perhaps she was being too invasive, the Dornishwoman added “Of course you do not have to share it with me, do not feel forced to.” 

“I-I,” the girl began, “Do you promise not to tell anyone?” 

“Of course,” Elia smiled, reaching out to stroke Talisa’s hand comfortingly, “I’ve no one to tell and I fear my husband does not interest himself in such gossip. Besides; I would never dream of breaking your confidence in such a manner.” 

“Alright,” Talisa replied, grinning and pausing for a breath, before shyly whispering “Ser Jaime Lannister,” as if it was a spell. _Oh,_ the Dornishwoman thought, _how sweet-- Jaime has an admirer._ Many women would have found themselves jealous or enraged that someone else would share their admiration for a man, but Elia found it beautiful, heart-warming. To be young and innocently in love. 

“Oh, the young Ser Jaime,” Elia gasped in sweet, false chock, leaning in to wink and whisper, “Good choice.” 

“He is so handsome!” Talisa gushed, making the Dornishwoman smile with amusement as she leaned back and observed how she used to be, years ago, “And once, he greeted me.” 

“Did he now,” Elia grinned, “How lovely.” 

“But he is a knight of the Kingsguard,” the red-head mumbled dejectedly, taking a bite of the orange-cake, “Wed to duty and I am a fisherman’s daughter.” It was unjust and cruel, the machinations of their world but neither Queen Elia or the young Talisa would be able to change it. _You will love another, My sweet and if the Gods are good, he will love you in return._

“Alas,” the queen sympathised, “But I am sure that a pretty girl such as you will find another one.” 

“Yes,” the girl shrugged, seeing reason. Elia liked that, how Talisa was not deluded with illusions and fantasies and dreams, but had her feet firmly on the ground. _Too many highborn girls dare to dream and look where it gets them in the end. Sometimes it is better knowing what life is, from the very start, That way it does not hurt so fiercely when everything collapses around you._

“Any other, handsome knights on your mind?” Elia asked kindly, pouring herself a little more wine. Talisa eyed the queen shyly, perhaps wondering if she should speak her mind. 

“You needn’t censor yourself around me, child. I was young once, too and simply because I am wed, does not make me blind,” she winked. 

“I hear the king, your Lord-husband is…” 

“-Enchanting?” Elia offered, grinning, “So _devastatingly_ handsome in his melancholy? Comely enough to make the Mother weep?” 

“Among other things,” the girl shyly admitted, “Forgive me if I overst-” 

“-Nonsense,” the Dornishwoman brushed off with a smile, sighing, ”Rhaegar is comely, to be sure and he does have such a pretty, enchanting voice when he sings.” _And he knows how to use his cock properly which made everything a little bit better in the start of our marriage,_ but she would not tell the poor girl that. 

“Some of the maids speak of Ser Arthur, the Sword of the Morning and how he looks like a warrior-god from Valyria of old. I’ve never seen him though,” Talisa confided. 

“Oh, soon enough you will, my dove,” Elia confessed, “And your friends speak true, Ser Arthur has the features of a Valyrian, yet he is Rhoynar. My husband and him could surely pass as brothers, would they so wish.” 

“So he is beautiful, as they say?” the red-head inquired, making the Dornishwoman chuckle and her heart hurt slightly as she thought of Arthur Dayne. Comely and chivalrous and beautiful. But he had left her, twice. Betrayed her, twice. Loved her, once. Loves her, still. 

“Yes,” Elia nodded, taking a bite of the lemon-cake resting on her plate. “Sometimes it seems the world is surrounded by beautiful men, does it not? But it is all so hopeless, they are either wed or sworn away… to a woman, to duty, to their work.” 

“I don’t understand,” Talisa began, frowning, “It seems almost a crime, for someone to be beautiful and then choose to swear their life away-- why?” 

“Only the Gods know,” she shrugged, correcting the hem of her slip. _Some do it for love, like Jaime. Some do it to escape, like Arthur. Some do it to have a purpose, like my uncle Lewyn and some wish for the glory, the recognition and status_. “But let me give you a piece of advice.” 

“Alright,” Talisa nodded, intently listening. 

“Do not rush into a man’s arms simply because he was the first to pay you any special attention, or tell you that he loves you. Or even because he is so comely that you wish to weep on the occasion. Looks are deceiving, get to know his mind and heart first-- For only there will you find the truth. It may seem difficult and out of reach, but the time will come, I promise you. Do not settle, it hurts to.” 

“Did you settle, M’queen?” the girl asked quietly and Elia looked up to meet her blue eyes. 

“No,” she lied with a smile, “And I am happy.” The Dornishwoman had settled with prophecies and lies and illusions, with scorn and japes and hatred. Though much of it was gone, she was still settling with Rhaegar because she could never have Jaime. She settled with Rhaegar because she couldn’t have Arthur. And perhaps some would think it lovely to settle with a man who was half a god-- But Elia had always wanted to be happy, instead she was forced to live a life of contentment. _It is by no means awful and I will never pretend that it is,_ but she would have given up her crown and titles-- To live a simple life with a man she loved deeply. 

_My heart is such a mercurial thing, it eludes me. How can I love three different men in different ways?_ Yet she had fallen out of love with two and in love with one. _That is a dangerous thing to do._

“Well,” Elia clapped her hands, knowing Jaime would arrive soon, “I am so terribly tired and should retire to bed. It has been lovely conversing with you, Talisa.” 

“Thank you- I mean likewise and thank you, M’queen.” 

“Such a polite little thing you are,” Elia chuckled, “I should wish my daughter grows to be as sweet as you are.” 

“You are too kind,” Talisa mumbled shyly but Elia stood up and walked over to the girl, gently stroking her cheek. 

“Honest is what I am,” The Dornishwoman began, “And let me tell you what, I could send Ser Jaime your way and perhaps he will give you one of his famous grins.” 

“Would you do that for me?” she asked timidly and Elia nodded, grinning. 

“I will even dismiss you for the day in the morn, so that you will have time to properly converse. If you are half so intriguing as you were today, then he will be enthralled. I promise you, my dove.” 

“Thank you,” the girl gasped suddenly, filled with the glee of youth and embraced the smaller Dornishwoman tightly. 

“There, there,” Elia smiled and stroked the girl’s back, feeling almost guilty that she was the one who robbed this girl of Ser Jaime Lannister. _An innocent love of youth,_ the Dornish queen soothed herself, _It will fade until it becomes little more than a memory._

“Alright,” Talisa withdrew, smiling, “I shall leave you to sleep now, M’queen. 

“Good eve, Talisa,” she replied gently, “I shall see you in the morn.” 

Once the girl was gone, it took a bit of reading by the fire before Ser Jaime appeared with his easy grace, leaning down to kiss her shoulder as a greeting. 

“And the wicked pest has returned to haunt me,” she exclaimed dramatically, closing the book and placing it on the table next to the armchair she was seated in. 

“It is always nice to be greeted in the manner I deserve,” Jaime replied dryly, “But if my services are not needed, perhaps I’ll take them elsewhere,” he finished moving to walk away, making the Dornishwoman let out half a giggle, standing up to take hold of his arm. 

“Please do not,” she feigned desperation, “How will I ever do without you?” 

“And there we have it,” the knight turned around with a grin, leaning down to kiss her lips sweetly.

“I am dreadfully spent, shall we retire to bed?” Elia asked, yawning and the knight looked at her, emerald eyes softening as he moved to tenderly stroke her cheek. 

“Let us do so,” he murmured and took her hand, leading them into the bedchamber, both climbing atop the bed. 

“Did you know what I found out today?” she asked, turning to straddle him with a smile.

“No?” Jaime asked confusedly, eyes fixed on her chest, rather than her face. 

“My face is up here,” she snapped her fingers, causing the knight to grin. 

“And what a beauty it is,” he murmured, meeting her brown gaze, “Now what was it you learned?”

“I learned,” she smiled wickedly, “That you have a secret admirer.” 

“And who may that be?” He mirrored her expression.

“Well… Everyone, but one I know for certain.” 

“Do enlighten me,” Jaime grumbled, sliding her robe off her shoulders, turning to the straps before being stopped. 

“She’s a sweet girl, one of my maids and I promised to send you her way in the morn, so play nice,” Elia warned, “Or else I will hurt you.” 

“I quite enjoy being hurt by you,” Jaime quipped, meeting her expression with an intense, green gaze. 

“Don’t be smart,” the Dornishwoman scoffed, making the man raise an eyebrow. 

“You love it,” he retorted and she did, she truly did, “But having to share me with another woman,” he smiled depravedly, “Does it not make your blood run hot? Not many women would be so… encouraging.” 

“She is six-and-ten, Jaime,” Elia rolled her eyes, “And… I should not be contradictory, after all; You will have to share me.” 

“I will not seek another woman out, you _must_ know that,” Ser Jaime told her sincerely, “You are the only one for me.” _I would not blame you, Jaime. Mayhaps a pretty girl will sway your heart when I am old and used and rotten._ That the Dornishwoman thought of herself in that manner was unjust, for she was by all means in the midst of her youth, beautiful and lovely, loved by three men and belonging to one. Her beauty was unconventional, it needed to be seen in order to be understood and it enthralled the observer like a spell. 

“In any case,” she waved off, leaning down to kiss from his neck, down the hard planes of his exposed chest, “You will be kind to her, leaving her with fond memories to look back upon. Do not tease her, it is hard enough to be young and hopelessly in love.” 

“Fine,” he inhaled sharply as her lips made their way down his belly, “I shall do as My Queen commands.” 

“Good,” she beamed, moving up to kiss Jaime’s lips urgently, still keeping her hand on him over the woolen breeches. 

Then, Jaime’s hands were urgently trying to undo the laces, dragging the breeches down his legs and moving on top of the Dornishwoman with a grin but his eyes were soft. 

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking her cheek, “So beautiful, Inside and out-- And I love you.” 

“Jaime,” she gasped feeling him inside of her and wrapped her legs around his waist, as the knight’s lips were trailing down her jaw and neck, golden hair tickling her face. _I love you too._

***

“Will you join us for stargazing tomorrow night? Viserys has been pleading for it incessantly, which of course perks Rhaenys’s interest and then that wakes Aegon’s and you know how it goes,” Elia asked with her head resting against the knight’s chest. 

“Of course,” Jaime murmured, fingers absentmindedly stroking her back, “What kind of sworn shield would I be if I did not?” 

“One who does not like staring at the stars, I should assume,” Elia quipped.

“I stare at you each day,” he mumbled. 

“Stop it,” she laughed, “Now that was too much, even by your standards.”

“Fine,” he chuckled, “Would you rather I liken you to something else? Grass perhaps?” 

“I quite fancy grass,” Elia murmured, adding onto their little mummer’s farce, stroking his chest with her right hand. 

“My sweet Queen Lemongrass it is, then,” Jaime kissed her head, causing her to grin. 

“It has a nice sound to it.” Then, things were silent for a few moments. 

“They will arrive in a few days,” came Jaime’s quiet words. _Yes, they will._

“Yes,” Elia replied, curling up closer to the knight, basking in his heat. 

“And that will be the end of this.” he murmured, tightening his grip as if to anchor her to him. 

“Yes and no.” They would still be able to meet but more secretly, with higher stakes. They would never have what they had right now in Starfall, ever again. 

“He does not deserve you,” Jaime fumed quietly, “He does not love you the way you _should_ be loved and it is maddening.” 

“Rhaegar’s heart is one of the most peculiar things in the world, I dare say.” She placed a comforting kiss on his chest. 

“This is cruel,” the knight whispered, “To love when you are not allowed to.” 

“That is the unfortunate thing when it comes to love.”

“Are you saying our love was always meant to be tragic?” 

“All love is,” she mumbled, “But that does not make the despair any less sweet or beautiful.”

“He thinks he can just offer you his empty apologies, alongside a new wife and son, and crawl back into your heart. He never understood the severity of his actions, did he?” Jaime asked, stroking her hair with his other arm.

“In some ways he did, in others he remain blind,” Elia allowed, raising and turning her head to meet the knight’s vivid eyes. 

“It is remarkable that you’ve not killed him in his sleep.” 

Elia snorted dryly, “Truly,” she agreed, “But the heart is a strange thing. Once it loves it is so hard to force it not to.” 

“I suppose,” he shrugged, looking into her eyes. 

“The remnants will always be there, however much you wish they would just burn to ashes.” 

“Will you-” Jaime faltered, his gaze searching, “Will you like it… Do you like it when-” She knew where his question was heading and liked that direction even less. Her answer would hurt him, but lies would hurt him more. 

“Do not ask questions whose answer you know will cause you grief.” 

The knight swallowed thickly, trying to blink away the tears that glistened in his emerald eyes “In here, you are mine. Promise me that it will always be like that.” 

“I promise, Jaime,” she began, wiping away a stray tear that had escaped his eye, “When we are alone; we are completely and utterly each other’s. It will have to be enough even though it is not.” 

“Yes,” he smiled sadly, dragging her closer to him. 

“Goodnight,” Elia murmured tiredly against his chest. 

“I love you,” Jaime murmured, kissing the top of her head and the Dornishwoman was already half-way into the realm of sleep when his soothing voice spoke again, “So much that it tears me apart.” 

And love hurts, 

That is how one knows it is real. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probs write something here when I wake up  
> Update: Done some proof-reading and editing.


	21. A despair, so sweet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now the time had come, to let go.   
> But all she wished to do was hold on.   
> And she was drowning.  
> Slowly.  
> Forever.   
> Hopelessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter and it's a bit spicy because I thought we needed a bit of action and just... being so utterly human.  
> It's like 2 in the morning so this hasn't been edited or anything and I'll probs get to it in the morning. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment down below about anything/what you thought and a kudos if you enjoy the story.
> 
> Until next time,  
> <3

Elia sat in the courtyard beside Ashara, watching the children play fondly. It was early, only midday but she had taken the liberty to sleep longer than usual, for a strange, tired daze had seemed to claim her these past few days. Mayhaps it depended upon the fact that for the first time in a very long time, she felt truly joyous.  _ It won’t last, _ Elia knew,  _ so I will make the best of it, as long as it is with me. _

“The princess is the sweetest thing,” came Ashara’s melodial voice, “And so clever for her age.”  _ My sweet, little prodigy, _ the Dornishwoman thought with a soft smile playing on her lips, as she gazed upon her firstborn. 

“She is certainly one of a kind,” Elia allowed, “I do not know how we made such good babes.” 

“Do not give your husband too much credit,” her friend said and took a sip of the apricot juice, “They may have his colors but they are  _ of  _ you.” 

“Thank you,” she replied sincerely, gazing out into the beautiful day. The meadows were green, with flowering bushes and large trees and a clear-blue sky. Starfall was truly exquisite, a paradise of sorts and she’d enjoyed every single minute spent there so far, “Naella is such a sweet girl, do you plan on having more children of your own?” That caused the beautiful woman next to Elia, to frown and grow thoughtful. 

“I don’t know,” Ashara confessed, “I almost lost Naella at birth and… I would never wish to suffer that pain, once more. But I do yearn for another one to call my own.” 

“Oh, Ash,” Elia said sympathetically, reaching over to place a tanned hand atop her friend’s pale one, “It might be different this time.” 

“I don’t know, Elia,” the beautiful woman sighed, “Fear still chokes me… And then, it begs the question; who would be the father? I am still saddened that Naella will not know one, but my older brother and even he will not be able to do much. No child wants to be without a parent and I fear her resentment, for when she grows older.” 

“She will not resent you, Ashara. You are a wonderful mother, no child could ask for better,” the Dornishwoman chided before continuing, “But Ned will come and visit.” 

“They will be few and far in-between. He will be a stranger who bears the name of her father.”

“Did you love him?” Elia asked quietly and Ashara’s haunting, violet eyes met hers and she was reminded, once more, why so many grew infatuated with the Lady Dayne. Such a gaze simply enthralled and commanded one’s absolute attention. 

“I do not think we knew each other long enough to be in love. It was infatuation with the promise of love, we simply did not have enough time to reach that pillar. His obligations demanded otherwise, a rebellion was raging, brothers and fathers died. We perished alongside them and something else took our place,” Ashara Dayne sighed, a reminiscent look playing on her face, like dancing waves. 

“You would have wished to wed him?” 

“Yes. I would have but it does us no good to dwell on what could have been, for it never did come to be.” Hadn’t Elia said something like that once? Was it for Arthur or Jaime? She could not recall. 

“Your time will come, Ashara. If only you wait for it,” Elia smiled gently.

“When will yours come, Elia?” Ashara asked sadly, “They always force you to commit to their bidding, never once asking what you have to say on the matter. They force you to pay for their crimes. Cheating, fornication, children, the crowning of another queen, the threatening of your family. I assume your husband apologizes frequently, but his words must ring as hollow as that crown of his father’s was?”  _ They do, but what else can I do, but make due?  _

“It is a man’s world, Ash,” she shook her head, “Women only live in it. We aren’t given much thought and it is a miracle that Rhaegar gives me as much as he does. Perhaps he thinks it is his penance. What he has to do right, after all the wrongs.” 

“He loves you, I saw that in King’s Landing,” Ashara told her, turning to look into her friend’s brown eyes, “But he always loved those prophecies more.” She could not argue with that. 

“He did.” 

“Yet Dorne has breathed a new life in you and it is lovely to witness, Elia,” the pale woman said softly, “You look so beautiful, touched by every single one of the sun’s rays.” The compliment warmed the Dornish queen but she knew that she was nothing compared to the likes of Ashara Dayne.  _ I wasn’t meant to blind, only to glow. _ But many preferred an enchanting glow to a glaring blindness, Elia just was not aware of them.

“I am happy here,” she replied instead, “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.” 

“You deserve to be happy,” Ashara said fiercely as she moved to stroke Elia’s arm that was on the armrest. 

“As do you, Ash.” 

“I am happy, now that you are here.” 

After that, things remained silent for a while and Elia contented herself with watching the scene in front of her unfold. The children playing in the grass, the septa chiding Aegon for trying to eat it. It was just so… normal. So unapologetically mundane and after what seemed like a lifetime of uncertainty and terror, a bit of mundaneness did them all very well. 

From the distance, she spotted Jaime and he was speaking to Talisa as she tended to the flowers in every color of summer, making sure that they prospered.  _ What a pretty thing she is, _ Elia thought, watching the blushing young girl converse with her white knight. Jaime was grinning, the sight proving more lovely than the sun. He looked beautiful, young and untroubled. Perhaps Starfall offered them both a sort of kindred solace that no one else could quite understand. It was a sanctuary,  _ their _ sanctuary. 

She was sitting close enough to hear parts of their conversation and though some would deem it an invasion of privacy, Elia was only human. _ I never claimed to be a god or a saint.  _ Therefore, she perked up her ears and let their voices wash over her like the tide. He had a soothing voice, Jaime. The kind that one could hear for a lifetime and never tire of. 

“Is the rest of Dorne as lovely as Starfall is?” Jaime asked the girl with a grin.

“I suppose it is up to the beholder, I’ve only ever been in Starfall and the surrounding area. It’s where I was born,” she smiled, “And where I’ll forever be.” 

“Now a pretty girl such as you can’t spend her entire life in one place, can she?” he asked, “You were made to travel and see the world-- To have men see to your every need.” 

“That is kind of Ser to say but that won’t ever be me,” Talisa blushed and grew even more flushed as the Lannister knight looked into her eyes and stroked her cheek with his right hand. The scene looked oddly intimate and Elia even felt a pang of undue jealousy in her chest. _ I was the one who told him to give her fond memories, I am the one who will be in Rhaegar’s arms when he arrives. I have no right, _ she thought but of course, that did not will the feelings to go away. 

The insecurity struck her, nonetheless. Mayhaps he saw Talisa and decided that all Elia had been was a fleeting crush in the midst of manhood. Maybe his devotion would dwindle and she would be cast aside, once more. By yet another man who would come to deem that she was  _ not  _ enough.

“It could be if you wish it to,” Elia heard Jaime murmur and then she decided to cease her eavesdropping-- resuming her attention upon the children. 

“He is very handsome,” Ashara said evenly, making Elia turn her head toward the pale woman. Ashara continued staring off into the distance not meeting the Dornish queen’s eyes, “And kind, too. He looks at you as if you were all the stars in the sky.”

“I-” Elia began but her friend shushed her. 

“Don’t say anything, sweet Elia. Sometimes; words are not needed. I will not force them out of you.” 

“I love you,” the Dornish queen said instead, feeling a surge of warmth and affection for her dearest friend. Ashara who could decipher without being told. 

“I know,” the pale woman smiled, “I love you too.”

After the day spent in the courtyard, the children left to have their lessons and Elia decided to wander the halls of the castle with Ashara, like they had used to when they were children. Jaime was guarding the children but they would all meet again for supper. After supper, they would wait until night fell and the darkness with it, illuminating the sky with stars and comets. Viserys had looked forward to it for weeks and she dared say that he would not be left disappointed. Starfall was a beauty, especially during nights like these.

Their supper was a calm affair, filled with pleasant conversation and plans for the days ahead. Viserys spoke of what an extensive library Starfall boasted and Rhaenys said she wished to go out and explore, perhaps she would find a dragon in the green fields surrounding the castle. Aegon seemed content blathering on with Naella. Their mothers even joked that perhaps the two young children harbored a small crush on each other. 

Then, it was time to retire to their rooms and prepare for a night of Stargazing. They were to settle themselves on the top of Palestone tower that overlooked the sea and simply bask in the views. It would only be for an hour or two but they would most like do it many other times.  _ Perhaps we should make it an every-evening ordeal, _ the Dornishwoman pondered as she entered her chambers, slightly surprised to see that Jaime had made it there quicker than her. 

“Aren’t you on a quest?” Elia mumbled, taking off her crown and placing it on the table with a sigh. It was such a beautiful yet strenuous thing that would leave her with an aching neck. 

“To find the fairest maid in the realm?” he asked, grinning, “It seems I succeeded.” 

“Lickspittle,” she chuckled and sat down in the armchair, stretching her neck. 

“Allow me,” the knight said in his pleasant voice and then his hands were on her neck, warm and gentle and calloused-- stroking the pain away. 

“You looked beautiful today,” came Jaime’s warm words, “I have to confess though, that gown gives way to unholy thoughts.” 

“Oh, stop it,” she laughed, “It goes all the way up to my neck, I may as well be a septa.” The gown was a pale pink, with black embroidery along the edges, alongside a golden belt tied around her waist. 

“Yes,” Jaime hummed in agreement as his hands drifted down her shoulders and arms pleasantly, “But it left your back bare and clung to you quite deliciously, those dreadful sacks that septas wear do not do that, do they?” 

“You are so depraved,” she chided but found his words amusing, “Speaking such salacious things to a queen.”

“I am quite sure that My Queen  _ thinks  _ such salacious things on the occasion,” he whispered against her ear, placing a kiss on her cheek. 

“In regards to who, my dear knight? You?” she scoffed.

“I would surely hope so, it would warm the heart to know.” 

“Well, I am not going to confess to anything,” Elia played along, feeling light-hearted, “But you have such a wickedly handsome face and body and… I do quite enjoy it bare.” 

“See,” her knight grinned, “Knew you had it in you.” 

“And you’ll never hear me say it again, so revel in it whilst you can.” 

“Oh, I surely will,” Jaime mumbled. 

“Now, I fear we must get ready. We have a stargazing to attend,” she told him, standing up to choose a shawl to don, as nights could get a bit chilly on Starfall. 

“As my Queen Lemongrass commands,” Jaime told her, emerald eyes like pools of green starlight. 

***

“Look!” Viserys pointed eagerly at one of the stars, “That’s the Warrior!” 

“It is, My Prince,” Ashara agreed, purple eyes twinkling in the starlight, making her more lovely than the moon, “And there’s the Maiden,” she continued in a whisper, to which the Targaryen boy seemed to nearly implode with excitement. 

“Mama,” Rhaenys said in awe, tugging on Elia’s arm, “That looks like Balerion.” In truth, that constellation could, in the utmost vagueness, resemble the shape of a cat, much less Balerion. However, the Dornishwoman had no wish to crush her daughter’s dreams and ability to imagine, so she nodded. 

“Doesn’t it, Ser Jaime?” Elia teased, “It has his ears.”

“Oh, to be quite certain, My Princess, it could be no other cat but Balerion.” The answer satisfied Elia’s daughter, who began speaking rapidly with Viserys as they gazed at the night-sky.

Aegon was busy indulging in the fruits and sweets they’d brought with them, Naella was, too. 

“You mustn't eat too much, Aegon,” Elia told her son firmly, “Or you will get a stomach ache.” 

“Alright, mama,” the boy said with doe eyes and she could not help but lean forward and kiss his chubby cheek, earning a giggle. Her sweet son,  _ he will be a man before long.  _

“That one looks like a flower, does it not?” Jaime asked her, to which Elia followed his finger and looked toward the sky.  _ It does, in a fashion. _

“I suppose it does, Ser,” she agreed pleasantly, “Or perhaps you are just seeing things.” 

“Mayhaps I am,” Ser Jaime chuckled but there was something in his eyes… Was it adoration? Love? Observation? She could not quite tell but there was  _ something  _ there and it left her warm.

They continued gazing at the stars for an hour or so longer, until the initial excitement had waned and the children grew tired. 

“I think it is time to sleep, little ones,” Elia said as she stroked Aegon’s sleeping head in her arms, “We will return to gaze at the stars some other day and we will have your father and brother with us, then.”

“I think my brother would enjoy the stars,” came Viserys’s response after a long yawn, “He always said nothing could equal Harrenhal on a starry night.” 

“I think we will simply have to see, My Prince,” came Ashara’s gentle voice. 

They gathered up all the children, Aegon resting peacefully in Elia’s arms and Rhaenys’s sleeping form going into Jaime’s. Naella decided she wished to hold the oldest prince’s hand, so she dutifully walked beside Viserys, who had no quarrels with it. Instead he spoke to the child softly, as he would with Daenerys. Of summer and history, where the ancestral sword that Ser Arthur bore, Dawn, was forged. 

Ashara and Elia exchanged awestruck glances with each other upon witnessing the sweet act. Daenerys would be almost seven moons when they returned-- Not Naella’s age by any means, yet still older than she was when they left.  _ What a sweet little thing she is, gentle to her core. _ One would almost not be able to believe that the circumstances around her conception were so horrible.  _ It just proves that no child is born with evil in their veins. It is the world that makes them so.  _

After having put each of the children to bed, each of the adults retired to their own chambers for the night and it did not take long before she was accompanied by Ser Jaime. He made quite the dramatic entrance, as per usual. This time, it was in the form of creeping up on her as she was gazing out of the window in the sitting room, thinking what a lovely, star-lit eve that it was. She did not have many of those in King’s Landing, so greedily; she lapped up whatever she could of the ethereal scenery. 

“Jaime!” Elia hissed as she felt his arms wrap around her, “You frightened me.” 

“Forgive me,” he murmured into the crook of her neck, leaving small kisses on the delicate skin, “You looked too lovely to disrupt.”

“So you decided to disrupt me by frightening me half-to-death?” the Dornishwoman could not help the dry amusement seeping into the words, giving them a life all of their own. 

“Something like that,” Jaime allowed, holding her tighter, “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything and nothing,” she replied, unwrapping herself from his hold and walking toward her bedchamber. 

“Well?” she asked when the knight made no move to follow her, but simply gazed at her peculiarly, “Are you coming or not?” 

“Ah, yes,” the golden-haired man cleared his throat, cheeks reddening, “Of course.” 

“What was that?” Elia inquired with a chuckle as he reached her.

“Nothing,” Jaime murmured, taking her dainty hand in his large one, “I might have been transfixed with watching you go.”

“Really?” she laughed and discarded her robe onto the ground as she began climbing into bed, dressed in an ivory slip with lace at the bottom.

“Yes, you are like my very own siren, sent to haunt me,” he smiled, removing both tunic and breeches, left in his smallpants. 

“Sirens are of the sea, Jaime,” she told him dryly, giggling as he threw himself on the bed with the vigor of a young man and pinned her on her back. 

“Well, they should make a word for those of the sun, then, should they not?” His face was so close that she could feel his hot breath on her lips. The Dornishwoman found herself appreciating his nose. It was straight in profile, narrow at the bridge and suited his face impeccably. She’d always had a peculiar fixation with noses, it was one of the first things she would notice about a person. All of them; Rhaegar, Arthur and Jaime had good noses, beautiful ones. So, quite spontaneously, she reached out and kissed the tip of his nose, earning a questioning glance. 

“I love your nose,” she explained, which caused Jaime to break away from his facade and crack a smile. 

“You do, do you?”

“I do.”

“Well, I love you,” he began, leaning down to kiss her nose, “And I love  _ your  _ nose,” then he moved to kiss her lips, “And I love your lips and your kind smile,” and then he caressed her cheeks, gazing into her brown orbs, “And I love your gentle, brown eyes,” he leaned down to kiss her neck and beneath, “And I love your skin and your body and the entirety of you. I love it all; so should you.” It was so easy for people like Elia to love others, but in doing so; they never learned how to love themselves. Those surrounding them simply took and took, never stopping to think that perhaps; they should give something back. 

“Stop it, lest you make me weep, you damned poet,” she teased but there were tears in her eyes. Oh, how she loved him. And oh, how they would burn. 

“Don’t,” he told her, leaning down to capture her lips, “Just do as I say.” 

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips as his hands travelled over the planes of her body. 

“As I do you,” Jaime replied, emerald eyes almost fully eclipsed by the black of his pupil. 

Then, he moved to lay beside the Dornishwoman, arms around her as she cuddled up against his chest. 

“I spoke to that servant of yours earlier this day,” Jaime began, absentmindedly drawing circles into her skin with his thumb, “As My Queen commanded.” 

“I saw,” Elia mumbled, closing her eyes because her mind was speaking too loudly and she wished it to cease. 

“Did it displease you?” he asked softly, kissing the top of her head.  _ I do not quite know, Jaime. Did it?  _

“No,” she said instead, sighing softly.

“Good,” came his tender words, “For I was going to express that she was a kind girl, not difficult upon the eyes either.” The words brought upon a heavy feeling and the Dornishwoman caught herself wondering;  _ Is this what Jaime feels when he sees Rhaegar?  _

“I agree,” Elia mumbled.

“But that is  _ all  _ she is,” came Jaime’s reply, “A girl. A sweet, young girl who will be a tragic woman before long. Yet as of now; the cruel mark of reality has not truly put its hands around her delicate neck.”

“You sound almost as dreary and ominous as I do on the occasion,” the Dornish queen remarked dryly.  _ But he is speaking the truth, _ she knew.  _ This world is not kind to girls or women or inferior things.  _

“But you,” came Jaime’s quiet voice, hand drifting down her arm to the side of her hip, hiking her shift up and stroking her thigh, “You are  _ all  _ woman, extraordinarily so.”

“I wish we could have met during a different time and more different circumstances,” Elia sighed, mourning what never was, “And that I hadn’t been wed, when we did so.”

“I do, too,” the knight replied, kissing the top of her head and dragging her closer to him, “I do, too.” 

***

Elia woke during the hour of the wolf and however much she tried, failed to fall back into the comforting arms of sleep. Jaime seemed to suffer from no such thing, looking divine, even in the dark. His golden curls flared out against the pillows and his lips were parted the slightest of bits.  _ How can someone be so lovely? _ She wondered, _ even in the most unlikely of moments. _ Of course Rhaegar was and Arthur had been too, but it was different with Jaime. She loved him in a way that she  _ had  _ loved them, in a time long forgotten. 

As rest refused to claim her, the Dornishwoman decided to quietly rise. She had a wish to walk down the path of reminiscence-- for a stroll in the moonlight. With that thought, she quickly leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his rose-petal lips and expertly fetched a simple gown and a shawl to wrap around her shoulders, were it to be chilly.  _ It looks quite nice out, though. _ The thought struck Elia to wake Jaime and tell him that she was off for a walk, yet he looked so peaceful and she had a wish to be alone this time. _ I will be returned before he wakes,  _ she soothed her mind. 

She was met by two confused gazes as she opened the door to exit her chambers. 

“My Queen?” One of the guards asked, he was brown-haired and burly, with kind, brown eyes.

“I had half-a-mind to go for a stroll, which is what I will do,” she smiled.

“I will join you,” the shorter and leaner of the two said, “It is not safe for a queen to walk alone.” _ But that is all I wish to be, kind ser. To be one with the flower and trees, to smell the sweet scent of night-air and have no other company but my beating heart; telling me with each thump that I am alive.  _

“That will not be necessary, Ser,” she told the man kindly, “I am very familiar with Starfall and its surroundings. In part; I grew up here.” 

“Still, Your Grace-” the larger knight began, but she interrupted him. 

“-Will be fine. I promise, I won’t stray far.” They still looked troubled and she knew that Rhaegar would never have allowed it, that he would surely give her one hell of a lecture if he  _ were  _ to find out.  _ But he will not, and Jaime is asleep.  _ Reluctantly, the guards allowed her to take her leave, for she was queen and the former Princess of Dorne, too. It was not easy to deny Elia, once she had half-a-mind to do something. 

The night-air felt pleasant on her bare skin and it smelled sweet with flowers and grass and rain. The moon was high in the sky, lighting the way and enthralling her. It was almost as if it called to the Dornishwoman, told, no,  _ begged  _ her to delve further into the thick-set trees and bushes, promising a solace out of her world. With light steps, she wandered into the tall grass and followed the dainty path of her youth, the one covered in beautiful pebbles that led to a pond. 

_ I should not be doing this, she knew. I promised the guards, _ yet it was different; she felt free. Truly free and it was not often that she felt like that. Besides; the Dornish queen had walked this path a hundred times before as a girl and it was only right that she did it once as a woman. However, she dearly prayed that no snake would cross her path. Elia did not fear them by any means, she simply had respect for the creatures that had the power to kill, with only one bite. 

The path droned on and sometimes; pieces of grass would pick at her arms cruelly, yet the promise of the lovely pond with rose-bushes and tall, oaken trees growing around it, forced her to continue. Her thoughts were about everything and nothing. Of her love for Jaime, the golden knight and then of Rhaegar, her husband. The one who claimed to love her so well, yet had done so much to ruin them, reducing what they’d been to little more than a grotesque corpse that he was attempting to reanimate. 

_ What will we do when we reach Winterfell? Will the North treat my children and I with the same animosity that they did my brother?  _ How would she and Jaime continue to meet?  _ It is not about sex, I want the comfort of him, of his love _ \-- pure and untainted as it was… As of yet. How would the North greet their own queen and her son?  _ Warmer than they would I? Or colder?  _ There was no way of knowing, yet the mere thought of the North made her stomach convulse and ache.  _ I do not wish to go there, it is not my place.  _

Yet the Dornishwoman knew that Lyanna must have felt that way regarding Dorne, as well.  _ We must make sacrifices sometimes, I suppose, _ Elia sighed, unaware that she had reached the pond, in the thick-set storm of her wandering thoughts. Yet she knew the  _ most  _ of sacrifices, for she’d been forced to make so many of them;  _ especially  _ for Lyanna and Rhaegar. 

It was only then that she noticed the small pond in the midst of the flower-bushes and tall, thick trees.  _ What a paradise, _ she thought,  _ it is more lovely than I can recall. _ The top of the water glimmered like a mirror, and when she moved to the edge and bent down, her own reflection, illuminated by the stars and the moon met her.  _ I look different, _ she thought. Elia just could not pin-point in what way. Was it that her cheeks would now flush with joy and happiness and youth? Was it Jaime that had changed something fundamental within her veins? Was it the promise of a despair, so sweet? 

The Dornishwoman could not recall how long she sat in front of that pond that sparkled with truth and lies and everything in-between. Yet it was calming and allowed her to finally breathe. Sometimes; she felt as if she could not breathe when she was with Jaime, as if her lungs physically closed themselves and refused air passage. It was not in a horrid way, it was because she could not believe that they were where they were. That she was so close to having all that she wanted, only to have it evade her grasp, just as the tip of her finger was to touch it. 

Elia could not put it into words, the strange way that she was feeling, but she knew that it was love and the concept frightened her.  _ To love is to hurt, _ everyone knew that, she; most of all. But she could not help but feel it so irrevocably-- It flowed through her veins like liquid starlight and warmed her heart, beckoning it to mend itself. Slowly, but steadily; she was healing and it was not thanks to Rhaegar or Arthur or anyone like that. It was thanks to Jaime.  _ It will always be thanks to Jaime.  _

She could not tell how long she sat there, only that the moon left her somewhere in the midst of it and gave way to a sky of deep blue, no longer black. The stars still shone, yet their light grew muted. Elia picked at the grass absentmindedly and thought. She simply was and to be, was to be. It felt pleasant to be one with the world, to not have to be a queen-- Oh, if only the feeling was not destined to be so dreadfully fleeting. 

A sound made her ears prick up, however and gooseprickles began forming on her bare arms.  _ How long did I _ \- she wondered hastily, standing up to her heart pounding. It was then that she realised that perhaps, she should not have come alone. It was one of those feelings that creeped up slowly, after the deed was already done; a twinge of regret, a wish of having done things differently. 

It was night and she was alone, somewhere in the deep, forested land of Starfall and  _ something  _ was  _ moving  _ behind her.  _ Perhaps it is an animal, a snake or a scared deer… _ or the most wicked animal of all; man. Elia did not wish to think of the more gruesome possibilities, for they would only give way to more fear and her heart was already thumping erratically in her chest.  _ This was foolish, this was so very foolish. What was I thinking?  _

Her breathing deepened and she wondered what to do-- the sound originated from her path back to the castle.  _ It is best to seem undisturbed, _ therefore, she shakily stood up and began moving, in the opposite direction. _ I will make a turn and rejoin the original path later. _ For now; she needed to go and quickly, that was.  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck, _ she thought as she began walking and heard the rustling of trees, was it her own movement that caused it-- Or  _ something  _ else’s? 

The sound followed her and sometimes; it felt as if it was right behind her, a gust of wind feeling like hot breath-- licking at her skin. She was being a scaredy-cat,  _ but I am not Oberyn,  _ she thought despairingly, _ I never claimed to be brave or valiant or a god. _ Now; all she wanted was that damned castle and her children. Ashara and Jaime and Viserys. Not being out here in the dark woodland, alone with nothing but shadows to hold. 

She began running halfway back to the castle, it was one of those matters that just happened. The paranoia overtook, the want to be  _ out  _ of the shadowy trees and in the open field, was too strong. If only she could make it back to the tall grass, the guards would be close enough, to be sure. Wouldn’t they? Wouldn’t they? Now it seemed like whatever she heard was running too, but Elia was not sure, all she knew was that tired as she was; something forced her to continue. Something made her hair stand on end when she thought of stopping or looking back. It was frightening, truly. 

Then, she fell. _ Fuck. _ Elia wasn’t paying attention, a jagged rock was the perpetrator and it cut her thigh, the pain sharp and quick. Usually, she would have thought of a witty comment, like: _ Now that will be difficult to explain, _ but then she felt something grasp her ankle as she tried to stand, making her fall back, yet she dared not look back-- but simply wrenched her foot back with a barely-veiled scream of terror and quickly rose, not caring that her gown had torn at the seams.

Then, as if everything was alright, she heard a familiar voice call for her; yet Elia could not see him through the tall grass. 

“Jaime,” she whispered, running toward the sound with a newfound vigor. After a few paces, she could make out his golden hair at the end of the field and she was filled with such a relief that she could weep, but her lover did not return that sentiment. Instead; the knight seemed to pale as he stared at something behind her, in sheer horror. 

“Elia!” he called in a panic and began running toward her. She could imagine that his emerald eyes were wide with dread, “Don’t stop, come on!” And she tried to, she really tried but her legs were tired and her lungs were burning. 

She tried to scream but everything felt like a fever dream, all that escaped was a hoarse sound. Then, Jaime was there and he smelled of himself and if Elia thought that she could not breathe earlier; she could now. 

“You’re okay,” the knight told her frantically, cupping her face and kissing her wildly. 

“I was so frightened,” Elia said, her voice cracking at the ends.

“He is gone now,” the knight said, breath hot against her ear, his body rigid against hers, as if every nerve was on fire.

“I only went for a walk,” she whispered tearfully as he held her, “Only a walk.” 

“And now we will  _ walk  _ back to the castle.” Jaime’s words were stiff, cold to the touch. _ He is angry,  _ she realised,  _ so very angry. _ It all-but radiated off of him, in palpable waves.

“I think I tore my gown,” she swallowed, not moving an inch, but staying in his embrace.

“You did.” 

“Don’t tell them,” Elia pleaded, _ Rhaegar will be furious if he finds out, Ashara too and Oberyn and Doran and everyone. I do not want their disappointment or anger. _ She had made a grave mistake, one that would have cost her much more, had Jaime not woken.  _ Had he not come and looked for me.  _

“I  _ should  _ tell them,” Jaime replied angrily, taking her arm and beginning to move back to the castle, “I should! For such a cynical woman, you sure are fucking naive! Or perhaps you’re simply foolish, mayhaps both!” 

“I am begging you not to,” she pleaded, trying to keep up with his quick pace but her thigh was stinging something fierce.

“Are you hurt?” He asked suddenly, stopping to look at her with worried eyes. He had not stopped caring for her, even after the fool’s business that she had been on. Of course he would not have ceased caring, the man loved her.

“It is fine, Jaime.” I will take care of it when I am in the safety of my chamber, “Let us just get back, I do not want to be out here anymore,” she whispered. 

*** 

Jaime did not tell the guards and they looked the other way when she clumsily excused herself, stating that she had accidentally wandered into muddy planes.  _ Knights do not need much persuasion, they believe what they are told by their higher powers, no more, no less.  _ The Dornishwoman had hurried into her chambers, breathing hard as the door closed. She was alright, after all. Scraped and a bit bruised but it could have been worse.  _ So much worse. _

Then, the shame creeped up and flushed her face. Elia felt it more fiercely when Jaime appeared, solemn and quiet, eerily unlike himself. He held a few linen bandages and a tankard of wine in the other hand.

“We cannot have you getting infected.” Perhaps it was meant to lighten the heavy mood, yet none of them felt it. Rage was still evaporating from his very being, yet to the knight’s credit; he hid it well. The Dornish queen would not have known it, were she not to have met his father.

“I am sorry, Jaime,” she told the man; he’d discarded his other clothing for a white tunic and a pair of breeches, looking so lovely that she might have wished to perish. 

“Do not,” the knight said instead, not wanting her words at that moment, “Do not because then I’ll forgive you and you do not deserve it at this moment.”  _ You are quite right, my love. Quite right. _ Instead, Elia nodded mutely, allowing Jaime to place the bandages atop the wooden dresser in her bedchamber and move toward her, gently sliding the gown’s straps down her shoulders, until the thing was naught but a heap of fabric on the floor. 

The Dornishwoman, left in nothing but her smallclothes began breaking out in gooseprickles and Jaime noticed it, leading her toward the bed and wrapping her in one of the quilts. 

“Thank you,” Elia murmured softly but earned no reply. Instead, the knight knelt and took hold of her bleeding thigh, surprisingly gentle and began cleaning it. He was so silent and she could not take it. Yelling; she could handle. Angry words too, but not this; not this cruel, cold game of silence. 

“Ah,” Elia hissed as he was nearly finished, bunching her hands into fists in his golden hair.

“I will be done in a moment,” he told her quietly, voice devoid of any emotion but cold rage. True to his words, the wound was wrapped up shortly, “You will have to tell your  _ husband  _ that you fell somewhere. It will surely scar.” 

“Thank you, Jaime,” she muttered, trying to pull him closer, yet he slithered out of her grasp and the action stung worse than any wound could. 

“Your forehead,” the green-eyed knight said instead, refusing to meet her eyes.  _ Did I hit my head? _ She wondered. _ I did not feel it. _ However, Elia did feel it burn when he began cleaning it, “It is a scrape that will heal in a few days. Your hair will cover it.” Then, he began packing up and rising again, as if he was to take his leave.

“Do not go!” Elia exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly.

“ _ Do not go? _ ” He asked her and now there was emotion in his voice, anger-- Rage, “I  _ have  _ to go, or I will begin yelling at you and none of us want that.” 

“Do it,” she said, “Tell me to go to the Seven Hells, but please, Jaime; Do not go.” 

“You did such a mighty job of attempting to get there yourself,” the knight hissed and she understood his anger, “I woke and you were not here! So, I crept back to my chambers, dressed and said that I could replace their guard. Yet they were worried and told me that you had left earlier, to go on a walk...Who goes on a fucking walk during the hour of the wolf?” Jaime raged quietly, his face flushing with anger. So devastatingly handsome. 

“I needed to breathe, I did not know I wandered so far until realisation dawned on me, you must believe me,” Elia pleaded, feeling a stray tear escape her eyes, wiping it away fiercely. 

“Breathe?” he asked her incredulously, “You cannot  _ breathe  _ in here?”

“I choke on my own feelings when I am with you. I needed time to- to be me! Just me, alone.” 

“I choke you with my love?” Jaime asked, “Then why would you accept it in the first place, why turn you and I, into an us, if I smother you? Gods, Elia!”

“No, that is not what I meant, Jaime!”

“Then how  _ did  _ you mean it?” he raised his voice at her. 

“I love the way you make me feel but I needed to breathe,” Elia whispered, “To know that I was still me.” The Dornishwoman rose, letting the quilt fall back onto the bed and walked up to the golden-haired man, wrapping her arms around his strong torso and leaning her head against his chest, “It was so foolish-- I regretted it as soon as I came to my senses, yet it was too late. It was as if I was spellbound, Jaime-- transfixed by the beauty of it all.” 

“I am so fucking angry with you,” he exhaled loudly but put his hands around her, nonetheless, “You frightened me half-to-death when I saw you. It was like witnessing a ghost.”

“I thought I felt the Stranger’s breath on me, for a few moments. I was so afraid.” Jaime caressed her bare back.

“That man,” Jaime spit, “He must have pissed himself when he saw me. He could not have known that you were a queen-- But simply thought you a deranged, beautiful woman that he could do with as he willed.” Disgust laced every single one of the knight’s words, “And these men, Elia, these savages...They enjoy the hunt more than the catch, which is why he allowed you to get so far. To allow a shred of hope, before taking it away.” 

His words made chills run through her body like the coldest of winter storms. What would Rhaegar have done? Would he weep upon her body if it was found? Would Rhaenys and Aegon remember their mother, or would she grow to be a distant memory?  _ How utterly foolish I was, _ she thought, wanting to tear at her hair and cry.  _ Why did I do that? _ Sometimes there is no good answer to why people do as they do. They simply do it. 

“Jaime,” Elia whispered hoarsely, “I am so sorry.” 

“I know that you are!” he exclaimed, shaking his head, “Yet I do not know what I would do, were I to have been too late. How could I stand losing you? How could you put yourself at such a risk? We are in your homeland, yes, but there are bad people everywhere, not just in King’s Landing!” 

“I know,” the Dornishwoman replied, craning her head to gaze at her lover. He was still angry, his whole body seemed to shake with it and the emerald eyes were glazed with tears. Yet his anger was a sign of his love and the way he behaved, to the way he carried himself; proved to entice her in some depraved way. She had been so close to the arms of the Stranger and now every fibre of her being was alert, awake and set on Jaime.

“Why are you looking at me in that manner?” the knight asked, frowning.

“I love you,” she breathed, staring straight into his eyes.

“You cannot be for true?” he asked evenly, eyes darting down to her exposed body, lips parting slightly. She was to open her mouth and reply when suddenly, his lips were on hers in a bruising kiss, where she all-but ripped off his tunic as he took her into his arms, throwing her down onto the bed. Then, the knight leaned down and left scorching kisses down the side of her jaw, drifting down her neck, chest and belly.

“No marks, Jaime,” she gasped, “Rhaegar arrives in a few days.” The knight nodded and continued his feverish touches on her body, until ultimately turning the Dornishwoman around, so that she was on her belly on the bed and he was standing by the edge of it. 

“Now, on your knees and be quiet,” he told her, “It is my turn to talk.” Then, he dropped his breeches and entered her quickly, sparing no time on being gentle or slow and she found that she fancied how it edged on the line of pain. She had always enjoyed that feeling but Jaime seemed to bring it to new extremes.

“You see,” the knight began erratically, not slowing his movements, “I am angry, enraged even, that the cleverest woman I know, would be this foolish. I am aware that they call me the stupid Lannister, but that still makes me half as clever as you and I would not have done this,” he leaned forward to whisper wickedly, lips brushing against the base of her ear. He sped up even more and there was a bit of pain but it turned so very sweet with pleasure, “I almost lost you, because of some fucking horseshit about  _ breathing. _ And it will take time,” he whispered and let out groan, “Before I can move on from this, before the anger,  _ this  _ anger is expelled from me. But there you are, spellbinding me, making me lose control. Fuck, I cannot even be angry correctly.” His final words proved her undoing, yet Jaime continued until he found his, collapsing on top of her with a sweet exclaim of her name, as if spoken from the lips of a seducer. 

Then, she began weeping for some odd reason. It was a soft sound, laced with agony and drenched in a despairing melancholy. The Dornishwoman did not know exactly why her body found that an apt moment to begin expelling it tears, yet it did nonetheless. Noticing her fragile state, the knight rose and gathered her into his arms, settling on the edge of the bed with her in his lap, the red quilt wrapped around her. 

“Why are you crying?” he asked thickly, emerald eyes seeming infinite as he tilted her chin upward with his fingers, forcing her to meet them, “Did I hurt you?” 

Elia shook her head, sniffling as the tears kept sliding down her cheeks.

“Don’t you know?” he inquired, more softly

“I- no- I am- sorry,” she heaved, shaking her head. Had the Lannister ever looked more beautiful than he did at that moment? With his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes? But no, it was all wrong-- They were solemn, not carefree or teasing and he looked worried, so worried that she wanted to smooth out those frowning creases on his forehead.  _ I made him that worried, _ the Dornish queen thought dismally. 

Perhaps the sudden burst of melancholy was because of the dire situation she had been in previously, or their love that would surely grow to be tainted. Perhaps it was for how she never wanted Jaime to look at her in that angry, cold manner again. Yet… It also might have been because Elia loved the knight so fiercely and knew that it reeked of nothing but doom. All those complicated feelings tied around her neck, like a noose of the finest silk-- However; still lethal in the end. 

“You frightened me earlier,” he told her calmly, arms around her, “To think that if I had been a  _ moment  _ too late, or not have woken up at all. To simply  _ find out. _ It was foolish, Elia. I never thought you could possibly be this senseless.” 

“I am so sorry,” she whispered, truly. What had taken over her?  _ I was always so rational-am- rational.  _ Or so, she had thought. The mind made one commit strange acts on the occasion. 

“How did you know where to look? I could have been anywhere.” 

“I had a feeling,” he mumbled darkly, “I woke and I had a bad feeling. It sat on my chest like a block of stone.” 

“I love you,” Elia told him sincerely, brown eyes brimming with the sorrow of her heart, “Too much.”

“Hush now,” Jaime tried to smile, moving to wipe away her stray tears with the pads of his thumbs, “That is enough.” 

“Let us sleep,” the knight beckoned her gently, “We have had enough misfortune for one eve, would you not say?” 

“Mhm,” she sighed, tiredly reaching for her earlier, discarded shift and donning it lazily. 

“I told the guards that you would most likely not wish to be disturbed, as you had a long night, which means that you can sleep for as long as your heart desires.” 

“What about you?” Elia asked, frowning. Now; it seemed she only wanted him more. To keep him close and remind herself that she was indeed loved by a man who had done nothing short of everything for her. 

“I offered to resume my shift, however; they told me to rest for as long as I saw fit-- That I must have been exhausted. I searched for nigh upon two hours, Elia.” 

“Then stay with me,” the Dornishwoman told him as she made herself comfortable atop the bed, watching him climb in next to her. 

“I did not plan otherwise. We only have a few days left; before certain becomes uncertain and we will have to grasp whatever fleeting moments we can reach.” 

“I feel I may have tainted you with my cynical ways,” she smiled tiredly, feeling almost alright. A few hours ago seemed barely more than a fever dream, now. 

“And I; you, with my witty nature.” 

“Do not flatter yourself,” she mumbled, moving closer to him, so near that their noses were almost touching and their eyes discerned the sadness in each of their souls. Outside; dawn had risen. 

Then, she kissed him. It was soft and sweet-- tinged with laziness and what a beautiful moment that it was. 

“You’ve regained some color in your cheeks,” Jaime smiled once they broke apart. 

“You know what?” she asked him, feeling the heat in her face, “I think so, too.” 

“Now sleep, incessant woman,” he replied, leaving one final, lingering kiss and closing his eyes. 

“Fine,” she smiled and felt his arm snake its way around her waist.

And they were asleep, once more. 

***

“I heard you had quite the night,” Ashara said evenly, stirring her iced tea. 

“I suppose that is one way to put it,” Elia replied, having learned in King’s Landing not to disclose any information; unless it is made explicitly clear that it is already known. She did not want anyone to know of her stupidity or what could have been.  _ The best we can do is move on. And never let it happen again.  _

“I should have warned you not to take a walk alone; the world is not as safe as it was, ten years past. Dorne has unfortunately not been spared in that regard. You could have been injured.” 

“I shall make note of remembering that and will take care not to do it once more. Thank the gods I did not fall upon any misfortune,” Elia smiled and felt the inside of her thigh sting with her lies. 

“Where did you go?” the pale woman asked, purple eyes clear and violet in the light of day. The older children were attending their lessons and the youngest had been sent inside for a midday nap. 

“Do you recall the pond we used to visit as children, in the midst of the woods? Arthur used to chase us around alongside Oberyn… Well at least when my health permitted it.” Elia reached out for her golden goblet of Arbor Gold, taking a sip and turning to meet Ashara, who looked to have paled. 

“I did not think to tell you,” Lady Dayne murmured, shaking her head, “I never would have guessed you would return there. Gods, I should have told you.” 

“What?” Elia asked, feeling her hairs stand on end and the air seemed to chill. 

“It is only what I heard, I do not know if there is any merit to these rumors… yet…” Ashara swallowed thickly, “There is apparently a lone outlaw ranging those planes, having come all the way from the Shadow city. They say that he is afflicted with a lethal condition that will claim his life, which is why he was not hung for his crimes-- instead branded an outlaw.”

“What crimes?” Elia inquired sharply, wondering what danger she had really put herself in. 

“They vary from mouth to mouth and many seem embellished; yet the core remains the same. He killed a girl, barely a woman. They say he strung her up on a tree by her feet, whilst she was still alive and…” Elia’s friend could barely force herself to continue. 

“And?” the Dornishwoman felt forced to ask, feeling her heart sink inside her chest. 

“And left her as a feast for the crows. Some who claim to have witnessed it say that his laugh still echoes in their minds. So does the girl’s pained wails.” 

“Oh, no,” Elia despaired, “How horrible.”  _ I am so glad that it was not me.  _

“I sent out scouts to finish him off, on the orders of Dorian. He did not wish to have such vermin littering our forests; yet all came back empty handed, stating they had seen naught and happened upon even less. Did you see something out of the ordinary?”  _ If Lord Dorian Dayne sent out a notice as he was away; it must have been a matter of great importance.  _ Elia’s heart pounded in her chest and she wished to tell- no, yearned to- but she could not and settled for a piece of the truth. It is better than nothing, I would not want to cause her undue stress.

“I did… or well perhaps I did,” the Dornish queen began, “I heard something in the forest and it unnerved me so; that I decided to take my leave immediately.” 

“Oh, Elia,” Ashara shook her head worrisomely, “I would not know what I would do; had you fallen into harm’s way. You must promise me to never again commit such acts of spontaneity. I must send out other scouts, in larger numbers.” 

“I promise,” Elia said and took her friend’s hand, feeling sticky with shame. 

And she would hold to it. 

***

On the day that the king and their entourage arrived, Starfall was under the hold of a mild storm; with heavy rain and sharp winds. It gave the location an unworldly beauty and Elia had to confess that she enjoyed the dreary weather, yet her heart felt gloomy with doom; For Rhaegar’s arrival signaled the end of her and Jaime’s… Whatever that it was. 

She had told Jaime that perhaps there would be nights where Rhaegar would not visit her, but that the king was unpredictable in the manner in which he decided to pay visits upon her. Therefore; the Dornishwoman had said that if such was the case then she would use the hidden hallway and go to his chambers, instead.  _ If he comes to mine; I cannot guarantee Rhaegar won’t be there.  _

Now the time had come, to let go. 

But all she wished to do was hold on. 

And she was drowning.

Slowly.

Forever. 

Hopelessly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Moral of the chapter is... Don't wander into desolate places in the middle of the night because chances are you'll get stabbed. I do not recommend it. 
> 
> jokes aside, hope you enjoyed the chapter and that it didn't suck. Shit's gonna get real real in like two chapters, that's all I'm saying *Laughs evilly* Oh, the things I have planned. 
> 
> Don't forget to drop a comment and a kudos if u enjoyed the story :)


	22. The impending doom.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guilt and pain and confusion strangled her, was a double-edged sword. It forced her to feel it for both Jaime and her husband. But Jaime’s and her planes were green, promising in a doomed way. With Rhaegar... Ours are already blackened and burned, with the earth having been salted. However; do not even the decaying and dead matters have their refined beauty? The kind so little comprehend? It felt like drowning and no one was there to pull Elia back to the shores. Nothing had ever been easy for her; yet it had always boasted clear, comprehensible answers. Now; nothing made sense to her and she could solve even less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an earlier treat for y'all! 
> 
> This will probably be the only chapter for a while, as school resumes on monday (We were on sports break for a week) and all the power of hell returns with it, aka tests and essays and all those horrendous things.
> 
> But, who knows, maybe there will be an update shortly, it honestly depends. Keep an eye out, I guess.
> 
> Don't forget to leave a kudos if you enjoyed this story and a comment down below, as reading them is akin to a guilty pleasure of mine. Don't be shy. :)
> 
> Until next time,  
> <3

“My King,” Ashara began as she bowed, “Starfall welcomes you.” They were in the entrance hall of the castle, opposite Rhaegar, Lyanna with Aemon in her arms and the knights of the Kingsguard. The Lady Dayne had already seen to it that the other members of the entourage were dealt with. 

“My Lady,” Rhaegar smiled and he looked beautiful, even drenched in rainwater, with hair more blonde than silver-gold framing his face, “It is kind of you to receive us.” 

“My Lady,” Lyanna smiled nervously at one of the great beauties of Westeros. To be in the presence of Ashara Dayne humbled even the most beautiful of women. 

“Your Grace,” Ashara replied, something cold and unknown touching the words, giving them a dreadful life of their own. 

At that, they were interrupted by Rhaenys not being able to contain her excitement, running from Elia’s side into the king’s arms. 

“You have grown whilst I was away,” Rhaegar chuckled, holding their oldest child in a tender embrace, before releasing her, “Soon; I will not be able to keep up with you.” 

“But papa, you must!” the girl exclaimed, making a fond smile appear on the Dornishwoman’s lips. So eccentric and vivid her daughter was, one felt everything she did; it manifested into the very earth and trees and flowers. _She will make a fine queen, I only hope no one attempts to dull her._ To be dulled was a terrible thing, Elia knew, and sometimes; one never recovered from it. 

Aegon stood beside his mother, dressed handsomely in red and black, gently holding her hand. His sister wore a deep-blue gown with a few sapphires adorning the neckline. 

“Greet your father, my sweet,” Elia told her son who obeyed, walking up to his father like a proper little lordling. 

“Aegon,” Rhaegar bent down and kissed the top of his son’s head, “How proper you look; soon you will be a man grown.” Then, the king gathered his son into his arms and moved to greet Elia, who was standing next to Ashara, with Jaime behind her. 

“Elia, my love,” the silver-haired king beamed, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “How I’ve dearly missed you. All of you.” _Did you miss us last time you were in Dorne?_ She caught herself wondering. 

“Husband,” the Dornishwoman replied and forced herself to smile, willing the heaviness in her chest to take its leave. It was not that she minded Rhaegar or that he made her skin crawl; he simply signaled the end-- and she yearned for the beginning. 

His skin had tanned more since she last saw him and it made his indigo eyes more vivid and his hair would most like be a lighter silver, once it dried properly. 

“They have been missing you,” she said softly, stroking her son’s cheek tenderly.

“I hope their mother has, too.” Had she? Elia had never given it much thought, she was too busy reveling in her fleeting moments with Jaime, enjoying Starfall and Ashara’s company that she had not thought much of her husband; except for how he would react if he found out about her infidelity and all the things that simply _could not_ come to light. The Dornish queen only smiled and hoped he would deem it enough.

However; when she gave it some thought… Perhaps she had yearned for some of their conversations, or when he would talk of the realm and what needed to be done, how her heart would squeeze when she saw him with their children; the affection he bore for them. It was strange; to want and yet _not_ want someone. _I always fancied Rhaegar as a dear companion_ but her heart could not fall _in_ love with him, once more. There were too many scars and flaws in such a tainted love. The Dornishwoman felt torn, was she betraying her love for Jaime by not being averse to Rhaegar? No, no she was not. The heart did not function in such a manner-- It was ever the mercurial thing. 

“Viserys,” Rhaegar beamed, turning his gaze upon the prince standing behind Elia, deeply engaged in a conversation with Jaime, “Will you not come and greet me?” The boy turned his head sharply.

“Oh, yes, of course,” the prince mumbled, walking toward his brother with a smile, seeming to have forgotten himself. 

“What was it you and Ser Jaime were so engrossed in?” her husband asked, once Viserys was by his side.

“Sparring techniques,” the boy shared eagerly, giving Rhaegar a quick embrace and stroking Aegon’s hair. 

“That does remind me,” the king began, smiling, “Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn sent me off with a gift for you. It shall be presented over supper.” 

“For true?” the silver-blonde prince gasped, lilac eyes alight with mirth.

“Yes,” his brother chuckled, “Now resume your discussion, I would not want to be a hindrance to your learning.” Keenly, Viserys nodded and rejoined Jaime.

“My King,” the knight bowed his head, yet to Elia; it looked forced, earning a smile from Rhaegar.

“Ser Jaime.”

“Ash,” a voice belonging to Ser Arthur Dayne said quietly and Elia turned around to observe the scene. He was standing in front of his sister, who was holding Naella’s hand.

“Ser Arthur,” Ashara almost sneered, yet it did nothing to dull her beauty. The knight looked stricken, torn on how to act henceforth. Awkwardly; he turned to his niece instead, leaning down with an awkward smile, “And you must be Naella. I have heard so much of you, I am Arthur; your uncle.” 

“Uncle Dori,” the girl turned to her mother, not yet having learned to roll her r’s. 

“Your _uncle_ Dorian is overseas, darling,” Ashara began with a cold gaze sent Arthur’s way, “He will arrive in a few day’s time. This is your other uncle.” The young girl seemed to grasp the concept and instead began hiding behind in her mother’s skirts. _Such a delicate, shy thing,_ Elia thought warmly, yet her heart stung slightly for Arthur. _He has yearned for this moment._

“She suffers from bouts of shyness,” the Lady Dayne explained, urging the girl forward. 

“Greet your uncle; he has travelled all the way from King’s Landing and Sunspear to meet you.” Both Elia and Rhaegar observed the scene in front of them, captivated by it. Lyanna stood a few paces behind them, speaking with Rhaenys. The princess was fussing over her youngest brother as she spoke animatedly, most like of what they had done thus far. 

“Hello, little one,” Arthur smiled and stroked the child’s cheek, “You have your mother’s eyes.” 

“And by extension; yours,” Ashara mumbled in a reply, perhaps feeling drained by putting up such a cool facade. _They call her eyes haunting but she was never anything of the sort. Ashara was made to laugh, for warmth and love. Ice does not flow well in her veins._

“Yes,” Arthur looked up with a slight smile. His sister’s remained in a grim line, yet it did nothing to dull her beauty. Naella took it upon herself to nestle into her uncle’s arms, making him chuckle and stand up. 

“I missed you, Ash,” the man told his sister sincerely, “Please do not despise me.” 

“I do not despise you, Arthur,” the beautiful woman sighed, brushing off a piece of imaginary dirt from the knight’s shoulder, “I simply think that you are a daft fool.” 

“I can live with that,” the knight said quietly, embracing his sister with his one free arm. Ashara did not push him away, but rather stood still as ice. _She still has not forgiven him, yet he is her brother._ It seemed the Lady Dayne was as torn as Elia was, simply in a different regard. 

“Well,” Rhaegar began, clearing his throat, “I think I shall depart for my chambers and refresh myself before supper this eve. It has been a delight to meet you, once more, Lady Dayne.” 

“My King,” Ashara acknowledged and Elia was handed Aegon back from her husband. Then, they all dispersed for their own chambers and the children to their midday nap. 

***

“Mama!” Rhaenys squealed suddenly, as Elia was cutting the food on Aegon’s plate into smaller pieces, “Could Tyene and Arianne come and reside with us in King’s Landing? We have plenty of rooms and they want to meet Balerion!” They were slightly early for supper, yet the Dornishwoman thought it a good thing, for that allowed her to see to it that Aegon and Rhaenys were properly tended to, allowing her to not have to fret for the rest of the duration. _Of course a servant or their carer could do it, but I am fond of doing it myself._ She was not an invalid, _I am well enough to see to my children._ Though with that having been said; Elia would always remain immensely grateful for all the help she had at her disposal. 

Ashara was seated as well, yet Naella did not join them-- the little star of Starfall had already been fed by her wet-nurse and put to bed. 

“You will have to ask your father, my dove,” Elia replied absentmindedly, “And I do not know if your uncle would be keen on allowing Arianne to go. She is his heir and must be by his side.” _Oberyn will be even less keen. King’s Landing is a snake’s pit, venomous and dangerous-- corrupting everything in sight. I only hope that my children, alongside Viserys, Aemon and Daenerys will grow to break that mold, to not be lulled by the songs of mummers._ Besides, the Dornishwoman knew that for Doran; it would resemble an unfair exchange of hostages, when Dorne had already paid far too great a cost for Rhaegar’s follies. 

Rhaenys began pouting and it did not seem as if the answer pleased her, to which Elia sent her daughter a meaningful glance. 

“This is not the last time you will meet your cousins, nor the last we see of Dorne and you have your Lady Laena, do not forget her so quickly.”

“I know, mama,” Rhaenys replied, ever the proper, little princess. 

“Good, now put on a smile for your father,” Elia replied gently, quickly glancing at Jaime who stood silent by the door, next to Ser Arthur. _I would have laughed, were it not to be such an ill time for it._ The Gods did love playing their games with her. 

After a few moments, Rhaegar arrived alongside Lyanna and Viserys. Courtesies demanded their due, so all present at the table stood up, except for the youngest and waited for the king to take his seat. The young Targaryen prince looked to be in merry spirits, quickly greeting Elia with a kiss to her cheek, for which she had to slightly bend down, and claimed the seat beside Rhaenys. When the Dornishwoman turned her eyes upon Ashara, it was as if the fair lady was carved out of marble. So beautiful and unworldly and _cold_ that she looked. 

“Please do take a seat,” Rhaegar smiled at them, taking his seat by the head of the table. In due course, everyone followed and soon enough; they began eating. The little ones spoke animatedly, making up for the silence and awkwardness of their elders. 

“Papa,” Rhaenys said suddenly, gaining Rhaegar’s attention.

“Yes, my child?” Elia knew what direction that was going and if one looked at Ashara’s slight smirk, Lady Dayne knew as well. 

“Can Tyene and Arianne come and stay with us in King’s Landing?” 

The king glanced at Elia briefly, indigo eyes unsure, therefore she took it upon herself to explain the situation. 

“She asked me previously, I implored her to further the matter to you.” A wry smile seemed to touch her husband’s lips. 

“Clever,” then he cleared his throat and spoke to Rhaenys, “Perhaps… Of course they are welcome if they choose to visit, yet it rests entirely in the hands of your uncles’.”

“Alright,” the princess sighed petulantly, making confusion grace the king’s features, once more.

“Lady Laena waits for you eagerly in King’s Landing, does she not? And Viserys spends more than enough of his time by your side. Then; Daenerys is there too and your other companions. We mustn’t be too greedy and need to learn to embrace what we have, my sweet, not what we want more.” That statement caused Elia to choke on her wine, earning a few pats on the back from Aegon.

“I am fine, darling,” she told her son, who looked slightly worried, “I drank too quickly,” she explained to her husband, ignoring Ashara’s stifled giggle in the corner. _That is very rich coming from you, Rhaegar,_ she thought. 

“Anyway;” Rhaegar began, still eyeing his first wife but addressing Ashara, “When will we be joined by your older brother? The realm speaks fondly of Lord Dorian, so does Ser Arthur.” 

“Does he now?” Ashara mumbled dryly, yet continued, “In four or five day’s time, I would assume. Last I heard; he was on a ship home, from Braavos. However; There can always be mishaps that cause delays along the way.” 

“It is very beautiful here, My Lady,” Lyanna joined the conversation, having been seated beside Ashara for the duration of the supper, having uttered naught but a greeting, until that moment. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Ashara replied stiffly, managing to somehow still look as beautiful as day and night. Elia wagered that each time the Lady Dayne gazed upon Lyanna, Naella’s paternal aunt; she saw what came between her and Lord Eddard. 

Elia understood her friend’s apprehension, bitterness and the unwavering loyalty that prevented the Lady of Starfall from simply treating Lyanna as if she had done nothing wrong. It warmed Elia, to have a friend as unyielding as Ashara Dayne but it did not stop her heart from feeling a brief pang of sympathy for the winter queen. Alone, with no true friends to hold. What did Lyanna truly have, if one were to have taken away Aemon and Rhaegar? Some might have argued that the young woman had Elia; yet they misplaced the Dornishwoman’s kindness and diplomacy as weakness. _Lyanna faces her due of cruelty in King’s Landing, it would not make me any the better person for giving it, too. I bear her no malice, so long as she is not a threat._

“What a lovely gown that is,” Elia told Lyanna idly, “It pays compliment to your eyes.” The gown was in Dornish fashion, made of silk or samite, light and flowy, wrapping around the young woman’s shoulder. _She has gained a bit of color, as well._

“Really?” Lyanna asked, beaming, “I had it commissioned after I saw you don something similar, when we were in Sunspear. It looked so beautiful upon you.” 

“And it proved a wise choice,” Elia replied evenly, turning to ask Aegon if he wished for more lamb. 

“That reminds me,” Rhaegar said suddenly, looking at Viserys, “Your gift from Prince Oberyn.” Prince Viserys’s eyes grew large and his cheeks flushed, once he realised everyone’s eyes were on hip. With a snap of the king’s fingers, the large box was brought out and placed upon a smaller table.

“Go on,” the silver-haired king smiled, “Have a look.” Eagerly, Viserys sped off toward the box and gasped when he saw what was inside. 

“The tip is Valyrian steel and the handle is a rare form of snakeskin, according to the prince. He said that he acquired it on one of his journeys and wishes that you take up practice with it, for he deems that you have great promise.”

“Gods,” the boy murmured, seeming at a loss for words, stroking the handle, “It is too much… Too precious.”

“Oberyn _wanted_ you to have it, Viserys,” Elia chimed in calmly and saw that there were tears in the prince’s lilac eyes. Oh, how her heart clenched and she wished to run and embrace him-- yet something held her back. _I cannot smother him like a mother-hen, this is his moment._

“You deserve it, Viserys,” Rhaegar told his brother warmly, “You are ever the clever, strong and dutiful boy.” 

“Yes,” Rhaenys added softly, “Uncle Oberyn thinks so.” With a choked chuckle, the prince put the spear back into its box and resumed his seat next to Rhaenys, kissing the girl’s cheek and embracing her as he did so. _He loves her so much,_ Elia thought in awe. Not many loved in such a pure, untainted way. _This world could learn a thing or two from my good-brother and daughter._

The stale supper progressed and ended not long after that memorable moment. 

“Will you take a walk with me, back to your chambers?” Ashara asked Elia, who in turn nodded and took the woman’s arm. They moved a few paces, until they were away from prying ears and the Lady began speaking. 

“Your husband is deluded and his wife is a pitiful creature… He thinks that he can simply return to Dorne and all will be well? That he can smile, wave and flip his hair and make it alright? And _her?”_ Ashara shook her head exasperatedly, “Now she takes to _dressing_ as you? Does she expect to take your place?” 

The Dornish queen felt a pang of fatigue as she began to climb the steps but mulled over her friend’s words. Of course it is impossible for Ashara to understand; _she did not have to live with me in King’s Landing, she does not know all that I know._ Of course Elia’s reactions seemed unreasonable, especially for having been a woman scorned, thrice over. Who showed kindness to the woman that stole away with one’s husband and begot a child with him? _No one in their right mind,_ Elia thought wryly, _but were we ever in our right mind?_

For someone on the outside, it was so hard to _understand_ the machinations of the inside, but Elia had lived through the rage and anger and hatred-- Now; she was weary. It was tiring to feel such a way and the feelings had since long taken their leave. Now; only a residual occasional bitterness remained. Time did not heal her wounds, but it had dulled them. She had picked herself up, piece by piece and attempted to mend herself. _Neither Rhaegar or Lyanna will undo that._

“She is lost,” Elia sighed wearily, “Trying to find who she is because she does not truly know. Indeed; it is pitiful to feel that way but she is trying to be _something;_ who am I to stop her?”

“How are you not enraged? How are you not…” Ashara faltered. 

“Jealous? What is there to be jealous of? My husband did her no service by placing that crown on her head. He did her no service by begetting a child on her. That she and Rhaegar carry the blood of this war on their hands? No; I am not jealous. Does he love her? Perhaps; in the way a child is forced to love the toy they chose in the market. Does he love me? Sometimes; I think he does. Other times… not so much.” 

“There is so much pain buried betwixt all of us… superficial wounds, waiting for the slightest scratch to make them bleed afresh.” 

“Aye; but they are healing, nonetheless. They will be hideous and scar terribly, a constant reminder; yet we will persevere. There is no anger left in me, I am tired, Ashara,” Elia laughed, the sound bordering between a sob and a chuckle, “So tired. I wish to rest; to sit by and watch my children, your children, Oberyn’s children and _everyone’s_ children grow, in a stable realm. A harmonious and just one.” _And I want Jaime by my side, to hear his laughter and gaze into those emerald eyes that share the same sorrow as mine,_ “I do not have it in me to be cruel and I am too old for games of spite.”

“As opposed to your own personal beliefs; You are not a crone yet, sweet Elia. You are young and beautiful, you are deserving of feeling that way. It is no wonder why my brother wanted you, or Ser Jaime or why Rhaegar clings to you so incessantly. You draw people in with only a touch, the merest hint of a smile. There are lovely people who are aware of it, then there are those like you; so lovely, yet so unaware of it.” 

“Oh, stop it,” Elia chuckled, feeling uncomfortable with being complimented. She never believed them anyway; the world had taught her differently. _I am ordinary; so very ordinary. But you, my sweetest Ashara; you are extraordinary._

“I only want the best for you, Elia. I always have and I always will,” the tall lady said solemnly as they were on the last step. The Dornishwoman felt strangely tired all of a sudden-- exhausted. _It is because all of the strain these past days have put on me._ To be so perpetually unsure and despairing was practically what described her at that moment, was it not?

“I know, Ash,” Elia said, throwing her arms around the woman as they were by her door, “I know.” 

“Are you alright? You seem tired.” 

“I am,” Elia replied softly, “I will duly take a nap now, or perhaps sleep all night-- One never knows,” she finished with a wink. 

“Goodnight, Elia,” Ashara chuckled, kissing the Dornish queen’s cheek and taking her leave. It was the White Bull guarding her chambers now. 

“Ser Gerold,” she greeted as he opened the door. 

“My queen,” the knight replied with a fond smile, “The days have truly been duller without your vibrant presence.” 

“Oh, I do not know about that,” she mumbled softly, closing the door with a curt, final smile. 

***

She woke later in the eve, to someone absentmindedly caressing her shoulder. At first; the Dornishwoman could barely recognise where she was, for her mind remained so blissfully blank-- then, she thought of Jaime, almost saying his name but like a crashing wave; it dawned on her. Jaime would not come to hers any longer, it was too much of a risk, one they could _never_ afford to take. 

Out of the corner of her bleary eyes, she spotted silver-gold hair and knew that it was her husband, not lover and it felt strange.. Her heart berated itself for aching. It was contradictory to its very core and she felt too fatigued to deal with it. 

“Rhaegar?” she asked weakly, crawling deeper under the comforter. The Dornish queen felt strangely chilly, for it having been such a pleasantly warm day… But the warmth was too lulling, “Why did you not announce your presence?” She kept her eyes closed, the only indication to his very presence being the hand on her shoulder and weight in the wooden bed. 

“You looked so peaceful, I had no wish to disturb,” came his melodic voice, “Besides, you deserve to rest, you seemed tired after supper.” _Weary to my core, like the hanged man toying with his own noose._

“I was,” she yawned and decided to sit up, meeting her husband’s unsure eyes. 

“Have you caught the chill, perhaps? Is it your health, once more?” _Most likely, yes. They come this time of year._

“Why?” she asked dryly, “Would it inconvenience you?” 

“No!” Rhaegar replied exasperatedly, “Why would it? I am simply worried for you, I do not want you to suffer.” _How noble of you…_

“My sickly nature inconvenienced everyone, if you recall. It was all I was; all they made me out to be.” 

“There was-is- so much more to you than that,” Rhaegar breathed, leaning over to tuck a few stray locks of brown hair behind her ears. 

“Not to King’s Landing,” she shook her head, smiling wryly.

“To me.” 

“Is that enough?” She asked him, “It was not, for you.” 

“Let us not,” her husband sighed, “I’ve not seen you for a week’s turn, nor the children.” 

“Alright,” Elia rose from the bed and moved to the wooden nightstand, pouring herself a goblet of water and drinking deeply, trying to soothe the headache ravaging her mind. 

“Are you still tired?” Rhaegar inquired softly, turning to her with those unworldly eyes that were not emerald. 

“Yes,” she sighed and rubbed her arms. _Why am I so cold?_

“Then come here,” he beckoned the Dornishwoman, to which she obliged but a part of her wished it was Jaime. She wished it was Jaime’s carefree grin she saw, not Rhaegar’s solemn eyes. _I am not averse to him… I just do not crave him, in the way I used to. Before he betrayed me._ But in moments; Elia would glimpse the man she came to love, the one in the beginning of their marriage and they never ceased to make her wracked with emotions of melancholy and guilt, even though she knew that they were not founded. 

Then, she was in Rhaegar’s firm embrace. He was similar to Jaime in physique, yet as the dragon-king boasted a few more inches, his form could have been described as leaner than the lion-knight. 

“How did it go in Sunspear?” she asked him, closing her eyes and enjoying the way his heartbeat felt against her ear. It was soothing; a mantra that beckoned her to sleep. To wash away her troubles and simply be. 

“Good,” Rhaegar began and Elia could visualise his pleased smile, “The betrothal will be announced shortly.”

“It is a good match,” Elia could not help but agree, “But I never knew Oberyn had a gift for Viserys, that sneaky man.” 

“Neither did I,” Rhaegar chuckled , “Until he simply handed it to me, mere minutes before we were due to depart.”

“That sounds exactly like Oberyn,” she giggled, feeling a drowsiness claim her. 

“Indeed,” the king murmured, kissing the top of his wife’s head, “I have a proposition for you, so do not fall asleep quite yet.”

“What?” the Dornishwoman asked, yawning.

“How do you feel about extending our stay by a fortnight?”

“I am not staying in the freezing and dreary North for almost a moon, Rhaegar,” she replied dryly. _He cannot think I would want this?_

“No,” Rhaegar replied and she could feel him shake his head, “I meant in Starfall. We arrived here so late and only have one turn of the week before we are due in the North. I wish to allow Arthur more time with his kin and you; more time with your dearest friend. Both of you have been so good to me and are deserving of this.” 

“Yes,” she raised her head, to look into his eyes of an indigo ocean, “Thank you.” Rhaegar simply leaned in and claimed her lips slowly, softly and she could not help but respond to it; however sticky with shame it made her feel. _Jaime knows, he knows I must do this._ And the knight did, but did he also know that she was not averse to it? He had guessed it once, yet forced the answer deep and dark and underneath; where it could not hurt him any longer. 

And then; she dreamt. She dreamt of a Targaryen girl in King’s Landing. 

But it was all wrong.

***

For the four coming days; Rhaegar continued his visits to her chambers and the fifth day was no different, except for the fact that he did not stay for the duration of the night; but left shortly after he had claimed his husbandly rights. 

“I’ve got to wake bright and early in the morn, to read through all of those tiring letters including matters of state,” the silver-haired king explained as he laced his breeches, “And you need to rest; to have this chill or whatever that it is, run its course of you. Which is why I will not resign you to the same pitiful fate as I.” 

“How kind,” she remarked dryly, noticing the tinge of pink on her husband’s cheeks. 

“Not to say that I am not peeved,” he leaned in, tunic half-unlaced, displaying the tanned chest beneath, “You look a vision. Sometimes all I want to do is stare at you, after moments like these. To trace every line and curve and hold the memories close to my heart.” Why did he have to make her feel this way? _Be cruel to me!_ She wanted to shout, _Be... inconsiderate, take your pleasure and refute my own claims to it._ Elia wanted him to make it a _little_ bit easier.

For every time she spent, or every time Rhaegar would show a speck of his old self and make such poetic claims; it left her heart in turmoil. She felt filthy, yet clean. Her sins were writ in blood and ink, carved into the walls of stone... Yet sometimes it seemed to be of the invisible kind. Then, during those times he would look into her eyes as they were joined, uttering words of love, adoration-- it made her wish to scream. To scream and shout and weep and curse the Gods.

For she was in love with Jaime and still loved Rhaegar-- Cared for him… in the old, fizzled out way; It was so terribly difficult to put into words. How Rhaegar could unknowingly still make her feel wracked with guilt, for not being enough, for loving too much, for loving at all. He had taken another wife and she was _forced_ to make due. But in Westeros; Men of the highborn are not made to make due. _Only the women are._ And how terribly unjust that was. 

The guilt and pain and confusion strangled her, was a double-edged sword. It forced her to feel it for both Jaime and her husband. But Jaime’s and her planes were green, promising in a doomed way. With Rhaegar... _Ours are already blackened and burned, with the earth having been salted._ However; do not even the decaying and dead matters have their refined beauty? The kind so little comprehend? It felt like drowning and no one was there to pull Elia back to the shores. Nothing had ever been easy for her; yet it had always boasted clear, comprehensible answers. Now; nothing made sense to her and she could solve even less.

Jaime; her sweet knight, whom the entire realm deemed tainted; yet he was more pure than anything she had ever known. How difficult it was, to have her own body betray her mind. To accept Rhaegar’s embraces, to feel the guilt she had no right to. Her love for Jaime was like summer; exciting and fresh, beautiful in its prime but it was challenging. To feel in such a manner and not be able to correctly put it into words; for some things were more profoundly felt, than exclaimed. Would his heart ache afresh every time he laid his eyes upon her now, to have to be so utterly aware that she would never be _completely_ his to know. 

Elia missed the feel of the Lannister, the acts of tracing his bare skin, feeling it touch her fingertips; as smooth as samite-- Those tender kisses against her lips and body. On the occasion; she would close her eyes and pretend that the long, silver-gold hair that her fingers so keenly held, was golden. _I never managed to get around to cutting Jaime’s hair._ Elia would close her eyes and pretend it was the young knight’s presence engulfing her, whispering so wickedly into her ears. However; sometimes she did not. And that broke her heart, over and over again. 

Elia had no reply for the king, except for a soft, somewhat strained smile, so he spoke enough for the both of them. 

“Sleep well, Elia,” Rhaegar murmured, kissing her softly before he departed. With a heavy heart, full of confusion, the Dornishwoman watched her husband’s retreating figure until the heavy, oaken door closed and she sat up, throwing off the covers and moving to the hidden pathway that interlinked her and Jaime’s chambers. Elia was still so very tired, but yearned to see him. To witness that smile that managed to make her heart grow lighter and her worries seem miniscule. 

The small pathway was dark and dank, the corners covered in cobwebs and air smelling old, stuffy with age. Thankfully; it was only a few paces before she slipped into Jaime’s much smaller chambers. Elia spotted the knight quickly. He was seated in front of his fire, atop the black pelt, staring into the haunting flames, not having noticed her arrival. 

“Do they show you anything?” The Dornishwoman asked, amusement lacing the question. Jaime jerked at the sound of her voice and turned around sharply.

“Elia,” he breathed, standing up, “You almost gave me a fright.” 

“Good,” the Dornish queen smiled, walking forward to take a seat on the edge of his smaller bed, adorned with white sheets, “One must keep up pretenses,” she mumbled to herself as she stroked the pale covers, it clashing beautifully with her blue robe and lavender slip. The knight did not say anything; but only looked at her and swallowed, looking eerily pale and forlorn.

“What is it, Jaime,” Elia inquired softly and patted the seat next to her when he would not reply.

Once the knight sat down next to her, Elia sighed and began stroking his hair, it not taking long before he sunk into her embrace, his head against her chest. 

“What is it?” she asked, as one would a child, “I cannot make it any the better if you continue this game of silence.”

“It is nothing,” Jaime mumbled, “Nothing I did not already know. I thought I had come to terms with it… But facing it was a different matter entirely and it is unfair of me to think so; which is why I should have opted to say naught at all and let it take its leave of me.” 

“You must tell me, my love,” the Dornishwoman replied, placing a soft kiss on the top of the knight’s head. 

“It is nothing, time will make it wane.” 

“We say that of many things,” she said, “But sometimes; the slightest graze makes superficial wounds bleed afresh.” 

“I do not want to cause you grief for something you cannot change. Something you warned me of.” 

“What is it that I warned you of, love of mine?

“That he still loved you. That he would still… And that it would not be… horrid.” 

“Jaime,” she whispered, feeling her heart sink into her gut.

“I thought that perhaps this eve; he would have left you be. So; I came and I waited by the door, seeing him through the small hole in the wall. And then I heard you and,” the knight faltered hoarsely, clearing his throat and standing up, “But look,” he shook his head, “Now I made you weary, now I made you sad and I do not enjoy making you feel in such a way. I want your smiles and your laughs; your love and warmth-- Not the ice, not the sorrow. It marks us both, staining us with its blood of grief.” 

_He heard us,_ she thought, _he saw us._ The fact tore at her heart, rearranging her insides. It made her feel like less than a broodmare or a whore in a brothel. _Why do I pass myself around so? Why must I be wired in this manner? Why could I not have wed Jaime all those years ago? Why did Rhaegar have to start this war and put us in this position?_ She both hated and loved her husband for it; because it led to her finding Jaime, yet the destruction of everything else. Was it a worthy bargain? That was a question for the Gods, who wove every human’s fate. 

“Jaime,” she stood up, wrapping her arms around his body and resting her head against his chest, feeling the fast beats caress her ears, “I am so sorry.” 

“Do not be,” he replied unsteadily, urgently, “You are always so sorry. I told you; I was aware of this. The fault lies not with you. I know that if it were in your hands; that you would have chosen me. Yet it is not,” he cleared his throat, “He is not unkind to you. He loves you, I suppose that makes everything severely more difficult.” 

“It is not easy,” she whispered, “And I still do not seem to know my name; however hard I try to.” 

“Kiss me,” Jaime pulled away and stared into her eyes. Green, watery eyes that were rimmed with red met hers, “And never speak of this again. Let us never mention or breathe it into existence, forevermore. Kiss me and let us be in love, if only for the night.” And she did, she did kiss him-- as salty tears stained their cheeks. This would be all they would ever have. How beautiful and tragic it was; all at the very same time. A love worthy of songs. 

Yet none would ever be sung of the tragic queen and her white knight.

There were already too many of those. 

At least her heart remained certain of its love and adoration for the Lannister knight. Elia dearly hoped that his did, too. 

***

During the day that marked a fortnight since the Dornish queen had arrived in Starfall; the Lord of Dayne returned from his eastern voyage and a large feast was thrown in his celebration. 

Lord Dorian Dayne was the oldest of the Dayne siblings, two years older than Arthur. He had recently celebrated his first-and-thirtieth nameday, abroad. The renowned beauty of the Daynes of Starfall had not passed him by either; yet his was more common in coloring, only the violet eyes, haunting and lovely made him linger in one’s mind, making some yearn for a second look. His hair was a pale gold, the middle-ground between his dark sister and light brother. What a range the three of them had; yet the eyes all remained the same. 

“May I have this dance, Your Grace?” Dorian asked Elia with a courteous bow and a gleaming smile. He truly was handsome, she had never acknowledged it as a young girl, except for fleetingly. _I was too caught up with Arthur and Dorian never wanted to join in on any of our games. He was too busy being molded into a future lord._

“Of course,” she beamed and took the hand she was offered, briefly turning to Rhaegar who eyed her peculiarly. 

“Splendid,” Dorian smiled and led her out onto the marble floors, where many guests were dancing-- she even spotted Ashara in the arms of Jaime, talking and smiling widely. It warmed the Dornishwoman that her dearest friend had warmed to the knight, for the Lady Dayne had been so apprehensive at first. 

“You were little more than a girl when I saw you last,” Dorian murmured as he twirled her around, warm hands firmly on her lower back and shoulder, “Now; you are a queen. It is funny how time changes matters.” 

“And you were still an awkward young man,” she teased, meeting his eyes, “But that has changed,” Elia finished softly.

“I learned a thing or two during my frequent visits to the free cities,” he winked, pulling her closer as the song slowed. 

“You look beautiful, Elia, but looks can be deceiving. I know we were never close and that there is a… strain between my younger brother and you; yet know that I was as enraged as Oberyn and Ashara when I heard of all the folly,” Dorian whispered into her ear and a warmth began spreading in her chest. _We never engaged much, but he was kind to me; once he gifted me a volume I’d been wanting for so long._ Elia could not recall the name of it now. It was all so long ago, “And I want to extend my condolences. On my behalf and Arthur’s, even though I assume he must have apologised nigh upon a hundred times,” the lord finished with a snort. 

“Close,” she chuckled, “Arthur never could rest peacefully with the fact that he might have hurt someone. What a strange profession he has chosen, considering that.” 

“Truly,” Dorian agreed, spinning her around and pulling her even closer. On this night; Elia felt as if she was drunk on starlight, dancing in a gown as blue as midnight, with two slits by her thighs and quite a daring neckline, might she add, it almost reached down to her belly-button in a straight V. Her long, dark hair was left bare, except for a braid down the middle, leaving it tumbling about her shoulders. 

“How are you enjoying Starfall, thus far?” he inquired gently, swaying them in tune to the chords of the songs. 

“It has been lovely, Dorian,” she replied, “And never truly knew how much I actually missed Ashara until I saw her again.” 

“Yes, she is quite the joy, my sister,” the lord replied fondly, “And capable, too. There was no one better to entrust Starfall to, whilst I was away. What of Naella? She is quite the little image of Ashara, wandering these halls.” 

“Naella is a darling of a girl,” Elia gushed, “So sweet and shy but her laughter could light up the sky.” 

“It could,” Dorian agreed, slowly twirling her around, “I’ve not had much time to engage with your children, yet the Princess left quite a vivid impression. She is a remarkable thing, clever and mature, kind but strong. She knows what she wants and how she wants it. I hope the princess remains that way; the Gods know that not many girls do, especially in King’s Landing.” 

“You are quite right,” Elia agreed, staring into his eyes, “What of you, Dorian? Has a woman finally caught your eye, will you settle down and establish a family of your own?”

“Oh, Elia,” he chuckled, the sound vibrating through his body and violet eyes twinkling. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Rhaegar by his seat, gripping his goblet of wine tightly as he took in the scenes in front of him, “I do not know,” Dorian finished with a sigh, “You as a clever woman must know why. I do not think I ever managed to truly hide it, not for those who cared enough to see.” _Not many in our vicinity wanted to see us as anything other than what they could make us. We were pawns, not people._

“I always speculated,” she allowed softly, moving closer and leaning her head against his chest as they swayed to the slow music. 

“Up until such time as I wed, or do not; Ashara is my heir… If I never do father children, or Ashara never weds and fathers trueborn ones… That will be tricky; yet perhaps a legitimisation of Naella would solve that,” he pondered, before shrugging, “Let us not think of such tiring matters now, however, for we are all still young.” 

“I will make it happen,” Elia vowed, “If it is needed. I hold you Daynes in high esteem.” 

“It warms me to hear, sweet Elia,” Dorian grinned handsomely and then they finished the dance. 

Upon returning to the high-table, she suddenly felt weary of the celebration and asked to be excused by Rhaegar, who seemed to have something to say but ultimately decided against it. 

“Good eve,” he told Elia instead, leaning forward to kiss her lips, a bit too obnoxiously, “Have a kingsguard escort you.” With a nod, she bid her goodbyes to the children and Ashara, even stopping by Lyanna.

“Simply because I am retiring does not mean you have to sit there,” she bade the she-wolf, “Enjoy yourself, it is a lovely night-- brimming with the loveliness of youth.” 

“I shall,” Lyanna smiled and then, the Dornishwoman bade Ser Jaime to escort her back to her chambers. 

The halls were silent, except for their even steps and the receding noise of the feast. Practically everyone in Starfall was in attendance… _well the important ones, at least._ When Elia turned to Jaime, she noted that he did not look pleased. 

“You look like a child who was denied sweets, Jaime,” she quipped dryly, “Smile a little, it shan’t hurt you.” 

“Why don’t you go and dance a bit more,” he replied dryly, “It shan’t hurt you.” 

“Is that what this is about?” She exclaimed and could not prevent the giggle escaping her lips, turning into a fit of them. 

“Good, laugh at my expense, I am glad I can offer some amusement, Your Grace,” he replied, staring forward. Elia looked to see if the halls were empty and they were; but for them. 

“You are jealous!” the Dornishwoman remarked and then began giggling again, feeling tears escaping her eyes, perhaps she had drunk too much of the wine, “Gods, Jaime.” The knight remained silent and brooding for the final flight of stairs.

“We are here, My Queen,” he said petulantly, and there were two guards outside her chambers. 

“I will see you later, Ser Jaime,” she composed herself and stared into his green orbs; her own conveying that they would meet sooner, rather than later. With a nod, he was off.

Having entered her own chambers, Elia quickly opted for the hidden pathway and soon enough found herself in Jaime’s. He was undressing as she entered the dimly-lit room, the white cloak and chainmail neatly placed on the edge of the bed. The man was left in his breeches and undertunic, which he duly removed, unveiling the muscled planes beneath. 

“You look enticing,” she announced, walking forward and brushing her hand across the shorned, golden hair. He had it cut a day or two past and the Dornishwoman found that she missed the boyish curls, yet this made him look every inch a man. Lean and hard and beautiful. 

“You know,” Jaime began, frustration lacing his words, “Your husband I am aware of; I am _forced_ to watch his displays of affection and attention paid upon you-- Forced to keep my mouth shut, to not react, but this!” 

“Jaime,” she began, close to a fit of laughter, once more.

“No!” he silenced her, “You say you love me, yet parade around in the arms of another man. Even the king did not look pleased!” _Oh, my sweet, daft fool,_ she thought. _Yet how could he know?_ His anger was rather enticing, Elia decided, how his eyes seemed to sparkle and the cheeks grew flushed.

“First of all; I care not whether any of my actions please Rhaegar and second of-” 

“El-” 

“-Jaime,” she began, silencing him by placing her hand over his mouth, “Listen to me now, and listen well. I will begin by asking you a few questions.” 

“I cannot answer with your hand around my mouth,” he replied snidely, after she had removed it. 

“Do not tempt your luck,” the Dornishwoman warned, the ghost of a smile on her lips. 

“Do tell me, dear Jaime; How old is Lord Dorian?” 

“I,” the knight faltered, “I don’t- Why is that relevant?” 

“Answer the question.” 

“Thirty? One-and-thirty?” he asked, confusion swirling in the creases of his brow. 

“Yes, indeed he is.” 

“And is he wed?” 

“No, but-” the fire in the hearth crackled merrily as Elia continued her inquiry.

“-Has he sired any children to your knowledge? Baseborn, bastards or other things? 

“No,” the knight replied, beginning to get frustrated by her questions. 

“And how many eligible, young and handsome lords do you know of that remain unwed and have not even sired a few bastards here and there?”

“I- N-None,” Jaime sighed, “But what relevance does that hold to you practically being a _part_ of him during your, might I add, _very_ long dance?”

“My sweet, stupid knight,” she replied fondly, beginning to unlace his breeches with her dainty hands. 

“No,” he exclaimed, “I am still ang- you cannot make this go away just like that,” he sputtered. 

“You will no longer be behaving like an angry, petulant child when I am finished telling my tale.” 

“I do not behave like-” the knight began muttering, yet the Dornish queen silenced him. 

“-You do, but that is not the point. I will now tell you something you cannot tell anyone else. If I hear even a whisper of it, I shall geld you myself and neither of us will enjoy that,” she warned, tilting her face upward to gaze into his emerald eyes. 

“Who would I tell?” he asked with a serious sigh, “Why would I betray you like that?”

“I have stopped questioning _why_ people betray,” she told him seriously, “All I know is that they _do.”_

“I will not.” 

“Good,” she smiled, pausing to breathe before delving into her little tale,“When Lord Dorian was in the cusp of his manhood; he preferred the company of stableboys, rather than kitchen-girls and this behavior has continued to imprint upon his current life; In the peak of his manhood.; Make of that statement what you will,” Elia finished, eyeing the knight’s reaction, until he finally cracked a grin. 

“You mean that he is… a sword-” 

“Do not, Jaime,” she chided, “That is a childish word and it does not do well to describe anyone. Lord Dorian is a perfectly lovely man; But he has no hidden intentions beneath that handsome face, so do well to rid yourself of this undue jealousy; it poisons the heart,” she leaned in to whisper. 

“Forgive me,” he cleared his throat. 

“And if you use such crude references; you can swallow your own sword; I will not deign myself to do it.” 

“You are adorable when you order people about,” the man chuckled, dragging Elia close to him, “But it is also quite enticing, I must confess,” he finished in a hot whisper against her ear.

“Oh, I can see that,” she remarked, rolling her eyes, “But I should be returning to my chambers now. I do not know if Rhaegar will pay a visit.” 

“Oh,” Jaime replied, seeming a bit subdued after the words, “Alright,” he cleared his throat, “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too, my love,” she sighed, kissing him deeply, not stopping until they were both out of breath. 

“I’ll leave you with a parting gift,” she breathed and Jaime looked at her intensely as she moved to get on her knees, brushing her dark hair behind her shoulders.

***

The next week passed in a blur and she ofttimes spent her days with Ashara and even Dorian would join them on the occasion. Her chill even ran its course of her and she felt much lighter without the fever, stuffy nose and sore throat. _It was probably Rhaenys who passed it onto me._ Suppers remained slightly stale, albeit not hostile-- Things seemed to warm slightly as they progressed; Yet there would always be a wall between them and nothing would ever mend that. It was simply how it was and would forever be. 

Arthur and Ashara’s relationship seemed to mend somewhat during the days that passed but there was still a frigidness in which the Lady Dayne spoke to her brother with, that made Elia’s heart grow heavy. Therefore; the Dornish queen sought to mend it. 

_“Ash,” Elia began evenly, as they sat on her ivory balcony, surrounded by the beautiful sun, setting over Starfall-- Basking them all in golden, orange and purple light._

_“Yes?” The tall woman turned her head upward, toward the queen in front of her-- Violet eyes sparkling in the gentle sun._

_“I would just like to say,” the Dornishwoman faltered, she knew what she would like to say, but the words seemed to evade her, “That you mustn’t feel as if you have to treat Arthur cooly, simply because he may have affronted me via his actions-- It is not right, he is your blood and he loves you. Who knows when you will meet again?”_

_“Elia,” Ashara sighed, “By affronting you, he affronted me and in turn; the entirety of Dorne. It is not because of you that I do not quite know what to make of my brother-- it is because of Arthur himself. I barely know what he is any longer; For the brother I once knew, would have never betrayed his own princess, for a foolish man with dreams and visions.” The Lady Dayne whispered the last part; Aerys still tainting them both._

_“I just would not like for you to deny yourself his love because of me.”_

_“Did he love me when he willingly came to Dorne during a rebellion and sheltered and idiot girl, as Starfall men were being rallied up to fight for a war they had no part in? Did he love us when he idly fiddled his thumbs as those young and promising men died, leaving wives and beloveds and children behind? Was that the extent of his love? If it was; then we are all better off without it._

_“I have settled my differences with Arthur. I did it long ago in King’s Landing. His actions haunt him enough at night, I had no wish to do it as well. He claims to have made a mistake and it has been and will continue to be intriguing, watching him atone for it. My heart still bears a withered love and fondness for your brother, I cannot explain it, but it does.”_

_“How does one atone for such grievous mistakes?” Ashara shook her head, eyes beginning to tear up, “He is so different but still the same and I cannot grasp how.”_

_“We all are.”_

_“Yes and it is so strange,” the pale woman sighed, “But I will attempt to give him the benefit of the doubt. He does look so awfully miserable when he thinks that no one is watching.”_

_“All masks are destined to fall at some point; unveiling the sorrow which is underneath.”_

She would still see Jaime and their interactions reminded her of the ones they had shared in King’s Landing-- They were light-hearted and full of easy banter, yet there was love shining in his eyes now, adoration hiding behind the gems of emerald. Or perhaps it had always been there and she had simply never truly looked hard enough. However, they were always surrounded by people; by the children, the king or the other queen and lords and ladies-- They barely got a moment to themselves where they could speak freely. 

Rhaegar seemed to have something to prove to himself… or mayhaps her, for he continued the nightly visits; not giving her a brief moment to slip out and see her beloved knight. Elia speculated it was because of her rather intimate dance with the handsome Lord Dorian, alongside the fact that she would occasionally spend time with the lord, in either the libraries or his solar-- with the Kingsguard present, of course. Otherwise Rhaegar would most like not have allowed it, or have been very wroth. He did not enjoy his wife alone, in the company of handsome lords with honeyed tongues and wicked smiles… If only he knew that he would have been more to Dorian’s refined tastes than Elia was. 

Elia would meet Lyanna for tea once a day, to discuss the progression of their children or speak of trivial topics like childhoods, animals and preferred interests. Those moments taught the Dornishwoman a lot and knowledge was power, she knew. It seemed to humanise Lyanna in a manner which she had never bothered to uncover before. Of course Elia still viewed the Northerner as quite a pitiful thing, their conversations brought upon insight and made the young woman into a person of sorts, with traits and intricacies-- not only a haunting girl who was in over her head. 

Of course the Dornishwoman would never be the greatest of friends with the second queen, nor bear to look upon Lyanna without feeling that brief surge of distaste and bitterness, for all the pain the Northerner and dragon-king had caused. _Yet… We could be allies._ Together; they were strong and it would be harder to tear them all asunder. Rhaegar’s reign was still susceptible to those who wished to conspire and plot-- always starting with the weakest link, Lyanna, _but if we are all forged together; the chain will not break apart so easily. Besides; getting to know the second queen might prove to be useful in future times._

Starfall was lovely and had made Elia feel things she did not know was possible, which was why she began feeling a sense of dread, as the last week approached. That three turns of the week had passed and they were moving into the fourth seemed absurd to the Dornish queen. _It feels as if only three days have passed._ The Dornishwoman wished to stay for an eternity, but she was no child any longer and would not indulge such ludicrous thoughts. 

The dread of the North seemed to manifest into her physical habits; the habits of eating little because she could not bring herself to eat more, being reignited. That, or she did not enjoy what was served and did not wish to be a bother. It made her fatigued and she would ofttimes choose to retire earlier; For a headache plagued her mind, or the thoughts of not knowing when she would meet Ashara and her family, once more. Rhaegar grew concerned, Jaime did, Dorian, Arthur and Ashara did too; Yet they knew this to be her habit, ever since she was but a girl. It came and went in waves, like the tide. It would run its course of her, it had to. It always did. 

Her goodbyes were tearful, once they came to pass. Ashara said that if she was needed, that she would return to King’s Landing, alongside Naella. Yet Elia had shaken her head. It was not their place, their place was in Starfall; surrounded by the serenity and beauty-- Away from the stink, connivingness, vapidness, and treachery of King’s Landing. The Dornish queen would return, she promised her friend that and tearfully; Ashara embraced the smaller Dornishwoman with the gentle warmth of a sister. Neither of them had one; they were each other’s. 

Dorian had embraced the Dornishwoman tenderly and spoken of how she was always welcome. That Starfall burned for her, just as bright as Sunspear and the rest of Dorne. His words warmed her heart and even though they had never been very close; she felt a sacred sort of kinship with the man. He, too, had to live in secret. Was forced to hide beneath his handsome facade. Sometimes; People’s commitments cost them their happiness… Elia and Dorian were no different in that regard. What were they to do? The world did not move for them and it would have been selfish to indulge the belief that it did. They were wiser than that, more hardened by the hard grip of reality.

It was surprisingly pleasant when they arrived in Winterfell, wrapped in woolen clothing and furs. The Lord Stark and his former Lady Tully greeted them by the entrance, alongside a little lordling of their own and a pending lady. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might change the title... Idk yet.  
> Beware: unedited.
> 
> BTW: If you're looking for a more light-hearted and banter-filled story, do check out "Ain't no rest for the wicked" Which centers around Rhaenys Targaryen and their modern, highly dysfunctional family, with cameos from all sorts of people. There's also a second part to that series, which is where I post all the extra chapters that are just drabbles on things that may have been mentioned in the main storry. E.g Aerys's crazy christmas parties.


	23. Come, all ye faithful.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, everything is different, it is up to us if we make it good or bad,” the Dornishwoman offered, trying to be somewhat positive.  
> “They are cold now,” Lyanna frowned, “The people, even those I grew up alongside. They no longer care for my company and I… Cannot fault them.”  
> “They lost, Lyanna,” Elia replied evenly, “They lost so greatly that it changed them fundamentally. And when one is miserable, they look to find the source of their misery-- To blame that. You and my husband are the objects they have chosen, rightfully so. Their sons are never coming home, their husbands died believing they fought for a stolen lady. Only to find out it was all for naught. It hardens the heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprised to see me back so soon? Me too, tbh.  
> Anyway, here's the promised chapter. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a kudos if you enjoy the story and drop a comment down below about y'know... anything, thoughts and stuff, I love reading your takes and analyses and stuff. :)
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> <3

“Your Grace,” Eddard Stark bowed solemnly in front of the king and his family, “Winterfell is at your service.” 

“Lord Stark,” Elia’s husband smiled kindly, “You may rise.” And so, the Northern lord did. Then, the king proceeded to curtly greet Lady Catelyn and the young lord-in-the-making, little Robb. _He was named for Robert Baratheon, or perhaps it was Robert Arryn…_ Elia was not quite certain. _Both of those men would have walked over the ashes of my children and I without batting an eye._

“Ned,” Lyanna beamed and threw herself into the embrace of her brother, ignoring all rules of propriety. The Dornishwoman chose to greet the Lady Catelyn. 

“My lady,” she smiled, “How fare you?” The Riverrun woman was a beauty, to be sure. With that long, auburn hair and those clear, blue eyes

“Well, Your Grace,” the lady replied politely, curtseying, “Only swollen with child. And you?” 

“Oh, I am quite well, except for a minor chill that refuses to take its leave of me. It is nothing to worry of, however.” That unknown illness had plagued Elia with headaches and fatigue since the end of Starfall, truly setting in during the moon-and-a-half that it took to reach the North. Constantly being on the roads had not succeeded in making her any the better, but now they were finally in Winterfell and perhaps a good night’s rest would restore her. 

“That sounds ill, My Queen,” Lady Catelyn frowned and did seem slightly concerned, “If it does not take its leave, our Maester Luwin is more than capable of tending to any needs. All you need do is summon him.” 

“I shall have that in consideration, My Lady,” Elia smiled kindly, turning her eyes upon the little boy, standing beside his mother.

“And you must be Robb,” the Dornish queen grinned, “We’ve heard so much of you.” The young child seemed shy and clung to his mother’s skirts, _yet that is the way they are at that age._

“Mama will we see the giants soon?” came her daughter’s absurd question, causing both Elia and Lady Catelyn to chuckle. 

“There are no more giants, princess,” came the former Tully’s gentle answer, “They died out long ago.” Elia in turn, beckoned her daughter, son and good-brother forward.

“What a pity,” Viserys sighed, “I should have liked to see them. Septon Barth had the most fascinating things to say of them.” 

“Even Septon Barth never laid eyes upon one, my love,” Elia told Viserys kindly, “He wrote based upon what others had written before him.” 

“How intriguing,” came the prince’s ponderous reply.

“Greet the lord and lady of Winterfell, children,” the Dornishwoman bade and ever the obedient beings; they obliged. _Rhaenys has been polishing her curtsies for some time now._

“My Lady,” the five year old curtsied splendidly, then turning to Lord Eddard and doing the same, “My Lord.” Rhaegar looked on proudly and all were charmed by the Targaryen princess and her vivid nature. Then, the boys followed; Viserys greeting politely and Aegon being charmingly clumsy, entrancing them with his toothy grin. 

“Let us hope you all grow to be loving companions,” Lady Stark murmured, earning hums of agreement from all. 

Then, quite suddenly, Lyanna moved to the Lady Catelyn with an open smile as she embraced the taller, elegant woman. 

“Good-sister, I have heard so much of you.” 

“Likewise, My Queen,” came Catelyn’s curt reply, rigidly withdrawing to bow. Yet there was something hidden in the tone. It was not quite right. It left Elia feeling a lingering cold in her chest, one that did not originate from the weather. Lyanna seemed to have sensed it too and therefore said no more.

“Lord Stark,” Elia greeted the long-faced, solemn man with haunting, grey eyes. She saw Naella in him, clear as day. 

“My Queen,” he bowed and kissed her hand, “Winterfell welcomes your warm presence, and that of your children.” _Does it?_ She wondered. _You may, the rest of your land may not._

“That warms us to hear, My Lord,” she smiled softly, smoothing out her red, woolen gown with her palms. Lyanna was dressed in green, with golden embroidery at the sides.

“Ned, you may call me Ned,” he smiled slightly, “I told you.” 

“Alright, Ned,” she grinned, “I should like a tour of the Godswood later on. I hear it is a beauty.” 

“That will be arranged, My Queen.” 

“Thank you.”

After a few more moments of inconsequential conversation, they were all escorted to their apartments, to Elia’s delight. The harsh winds had given her a headache and she wished to rest, in Jaime’s arms. 

But he could hold her no longer, so she would settle for the lulling caresses of the fire in the hearth. 

***

“This is not so bad, is it?” she heard Rhaegar ask, his lips against her ear. A feast had been ordered, to celebrate their arrival and even though the noise made her wish to retire to her chambers, if only for a moment’s solace… Elia could not argue against him. _The people here have been… surprisingly accommodating toward me and mine…_ Yet King’s Landing had been accommodating on the occasion, as well. _When some hidden agenda demanded it do._

“No, husband,” she allowed and raised a goblet of wine to her lips, “It is not.” With the reassurement of his queen, the king drew back and observed the setting, from his seat at the high-table. 

Though the food had not been greatly to her liking. She found it was too dependent on meat, red and rare-- like some men enjoyed it. But Elia had never, she enjoyed light meat, cooked thoroughly without the cartilage and bloodieness that turned her stomach. _Perhaps I should make a gentle request to Ned, for them to serve more… light food, such as vegetables and stews._ Suffice to say that the Dornishwoman had mostly dined on the sweets and desserts that eve. _It is only a few nights,_ she’d comforted herself, _one mustn’t overindulge in these things-- or I shall grow as fat as a pig, sent to the slaughter._

Lyanna was seated by the king’s other side, dressed in a proper Northern fashion, with a long, blue gown that made her skin paler and the eyes more like blue stars, than grey chips of ice. Statuesque… almost. But the change of scenery had done much to lighten the melancholy, young woman. Her cheeks were flushed from drink and she was laughing and smiling for all to see, conversing with the brother next to her, as well as the passing servants and old relations. Yet the other lords and ladies present seemed apprehensive, not quite knowing what to do with the king or his queens-- as different from each other as night was to day. There was tension, Elia sensed it, and there was cold. 

“When is your babe due to arrive, My Lady?” Elia turned to Catelyn Tully who was toying with the remnants of lemon-cake on her plate-- dressed in Tully blue. Elia herself had chosen a modest gown of a dulled orange, hair done in an immaculate updo of braids and twists. 

“In the start of next year,” the lady smiled softly, “She is much calmer than her brother.” 

“She?” Elia grinned, “You are certain it is to be a girl, then?”

“I feel it in my bones,” Lady Catelyn mumbled.

“Well, we shall see in a few moons, shan’t we?” Elia nodded, “My Rhaenys, on the contrary, was much more lively than her brother,” she continued to reminisce, fondly, “Aegon… he was so gentle, it was as if he feared the slightest movement would cause me discomfort.” 

A sudden cloud of melancholy began hanging over the Dornishwoman and she found that she… her heart yearned for another babe to love. They neither conspired, hated or betrayed. They loved, wholly and purely. But her ship had sunk and left the harbor, it was not written in the stars for her to bear another babe. The Gods had willed it so when they made her frail and weak. Of course she had felt stronger… but the fragility of her health would always come knocking, to remind her that however much time passed; she would always be at its mercy. 

“The little prince is a charming thing, gentle and kind,” the lady softly interrupted Elia’s thoughts, placing a slender, pale hand atop Elia’s beige, that idly rested by the side of her plate, “Robb seems to have taken to him, as well as your daughter.” 

“Family,” Elia smiled, “It can be a wonderful thing.” 

“With it comes duty and honor.” 

“Your words,” the Dornishwoman murmured and shrugged, “Good ones.” 

“All my life; I have done my duty, to uphold my family’s honor. You have done your duty as well and upheld the honor of your family. I loved one brother, I wed the other. All because someone thought they were above those words. That they deserved more. Well, did _we_ not deserve more, too? But we had to make due, what makes other suspect that they do not? That they have the audacity to uproot everyone else, simply to sate their own, selfish whims selfish whims… And now I shall have to pay the price with my child,” Lady Catelyn pondered quietly, gazing ahead. Elia could not fault the woman, _she had been forced to wed alongside her sister because of the war and lost the man she had loved, the one destined for her. Now, she will lose a daughter to King's Landing, too._

“I fear I may have overspok-” the lady began worriedly, when Elia made no reply, “-They are just thoughts. It gets so terribly lonely on the occasion, in a foreign land which I am to spend the rest of my life in.” 

“I understand,” the Dornishwoman murmured softly, “I, too, was sent to a foreign land, where the people were not what they seemed. I know of your struggles, My Lady-- I’ve shared them. You will find your place in time. It will get easier.” _Never easy, only easier._

“Thank you, My Queen,” Lady Catelyn replied, her voice wavering, Tully blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. 

***

Once the night’s festivities had moved toward their end, Elia found herself in the quiet of her bedchamber. The fire had begun to die out and gooseprickles began forming on her bare arms, so she took it upon herself to wrap her delicate body in the furs atop the bed-- watching as the flames died like hope. Once the last light looked to have gone out, she came upon an idea. 

Jaime was guarding her chambers that eve, alongside a Northern knight of little importance. The Lannister and his queen had barely had enough time to interact, during the arduous moon-and-a-half journey that it took to reach Winterfell. Elia had spent most of her time ill, inside the carriage as well. The constant motion did not sit well with her delicate constitution and it had succeeded in worrying the king as well. 

A strong urge for his presence seemed to overtake, choking her with unuttered sobs. Elia did not know why, but he always succeeded in calming her, in making her feel safe and as if all was well. Jaime’s grins would inspire a fondness in her chest that would last until nightfall. He was her sun and she was starved of the light. Therefore, the Dornishwoman wrapped a robe around her shift-clad body and opened the door to her chambers. _I can be cunning when I wish to be, Oberyn,_ she thought wryly. 

“Sers,” she greeted and did not let the Lannister’s intense gaze fall unnoticed. The knight opposite him was a young man, brown of hair and eye. 

“My Queen,” the knight of Lannister bowed his head, causing the other, inexperienced knight to do the same. 

“The fire has died out, it seems,” she sighed, “Would one of you be so kind as to help reignite it? Otherwise the room gets so terribly cold.” 

“O-” the younger knight began, but her Jaime beat him to it. 

“-Of course, Your Grace,” he nodded and she stepped aside to allow him entrance. 

“Thank you so much, kind Sers-- What would I do without you?” Then she turned to close the door, “Otherwise the room will chill and I am already delicate of health,” Elia explained to the younger knight, who nodded. _He has no reason to question me. The young ones are ever dependent on their lieges and strive to emulate them. If he wishes to curry favor with Jaime, then he will think naught of this._ Once the door was closed, she turned and saw that her knight had already succeeded in reigniting the fire. 

“That was quick,” she observed in a low voice, taking soft steps toward him. His hair shone like beaten gold, in the places where the light of the flames flickered over and kissed. 

“All I had to do was throw some firewood in and light it,” he explained, smiling as he placed his large hands around her waist. 

“I’ve missed you,” she breathed, earning a smirk as the knight leaned down.

“My clever, little summer siren,” he breathed, lips brushing over hers, “I have missed you too.” 

“How long does it take to light a fire?” she asked him, grinning as her deft hands began unlacing his breeches. 

“Depends,” he murmured and began kissing her, stopping in-between to speak, “But the fire was quarrelsome this eve, so a bit of extra tending to it was needed.” 

“Be quick, my handsome knight,” she breathed and led him toward the bed, “Lay down.” The knight agreed and stared at her through his dark lashes, hiding a glinting emerald beneath. 

“It has been a very, very long time-- too long,” he sighed and captured his lower lip with his front row of teeth, “I should be surprised if it is not quick.”

“Some men would consider that embarrassing,” she moved to straddle him and leaned forward, cupping his face with tender hands.

“To fall apart at your behest? I do not think so. I think you should take that as a compliment, Your Grace,” he smiled and kissed her until they were both out of breath, “The fact that your mere presence proves to undo me.” 

“I have never been more flattered,” she replied and hiked her shift up, earning a soft groan. 

“Now, be quiet,” Elia whispered and began moving faster, gasping softly as Jaime’s hands drifted over her body.

“Fuck,” she heard him whisper as his grip tightened, causing her to throw her head back as she bit her lip to stop any sound escaping. Elia was careful not to touch his breastplate or anything that made sound.

“I’m going to--” Jaime whispered after a few moments, his grip so tight that she wondered if it would leave marks. Idly, Elia thought of Rhaegar who was still at the feast, or perhaps he had retired. _I hope he does not visit tonight,_ the Dornishwoman thought and sent a quick prayer to the Gods, for their compliance. 

“Shh,” she leaned forward and covered his lips, to prevent a sound of ecstasy, which arrived after a few seconds. Elia continued the movements until hers was upon them as well, biting her lip so hard that she wondered if it drew blood. 

They were only allowed a few moments of recovery, before Jaime sat up, gently placed her on his side and began lacing his breeches. She watched him through dark lashes and was overwhelmed by the love in which she bore him, it strangled her, ever so gently. 

“I love you,” Elia said and the knight turned his head toward her, smiling.

“I love you too,” he sighed and leaned forward, kissing her hard, “My beautiful siren of summer.” 

Then, he stood up and reached an arm out to help her do the same. 

“Here,” Jaime handed her the discarded robe, in which she wrapped around her body. 

“Wait,” she whispered as he moved toward the door, rushing to smooth out his hair that was in a state of disarray, “There.” 

“Clever,” Jaime replied, kissed her one last time and opened the door.

“What a quarrelsome fire,” she frowned as he stepped out, “It just did _not_ want to reignite.” 

“Fires are uncertain things, My Queen,” Jaime played along, “Perhaps you should request a different kind of firewood, some wood burns easier than others.” 

“I shall duly take that up with my servants, Ser Jaime,” Elia nodded, “But for now; I bid you all a good eve.” 

“Good eve, Your Grace,” the younger knight nodded, seemingly entirely unaware of their tryst inside. 

Then, she slept. 

***’

That next day, she finally received her tour of the Godswood, by none other than Lord Eddard Stark, as the children were at their lessons, the king doing whatever it was that kings did and Lyanna at tea with Lady Catelyn. 

“Here it begins,” the lord said quietly, as they began walking through a dark, wooded area, “My favorite part remains the center, you shall soon see, My Queen.” 

“Elia,” the Dornishwoman corrected him as she stepped over some vines and leaves, feeling watched by a thousand eyes and none, “Elia when we are alone.” It was a dark place, the godswood, with many different kinds of trees, yet somehow; they all looked the same in that dark, even though it was only midday. 

“Elia it is, then,” came Ned’s solemn voice as they continued to walk side by side, through the thick-set trees and primal strength of the wooded land. 

“It is eerie to be here,” she breathed in awe, looking around, “Do not mistake me, Ned; It is an enchanting kind of eerie. It brings peace to the heart.” She had felt it when they first entered, how the ache in her mind dulled and a sense of calm enveloped her. _These are not my Gods,_ Elia thought, _but their presence brings me solace, nonetheless._

“I am glad it is to your taste, Elia,” Ned smiled, finally looking the age that he was. _Such a young man, truly,_ “My wife does not share that fondness… she feels it… rejects her and though I tell her that her children are Northern, that she does belong-- It falls on deaf ears.”

“A beauty, your wife is-- Clever and kind, as well. She was to wed your brother, was she not?” Elia asked evenly, reaching out to trace carvings in the trunk of a tree next to her. 

“Yes, she was,” the lord beside her acknowledged, “But Brandon died and so did father, thusly their burdens fell to me,” he faltered, “Not that my wife is a burden, do not mis-” 

“-I take your meaning, Ned. It is difficult to take the repercussions of an act you had no part in,” the Dornishwoman soothed, turning her head to look into his eyes. Grey and wise and sad, too sad for their years. 

“I was not meant to rule,” he murmured.

“Yet the burden fell upon you nonetheless and from what I’ve seen; you are a good lord, Ned. Winterfell could be in much worse hands.” 

“Thank you, My- Elia,” he corrected himself before exclaiming, “Ah, here we are.” 

“The center,” she whispered and could scarcely bring herself to breathe, so dark and beautiful was the sight. 

There was a small, dark pool in front of them, with water so clear that one could see their exact reflection on its surface. Then, there was a large tree-- A weirwood heart tree-- bone-wite, with red leaves adorning its branches and a haughty, long and melancholy face carved into its trunk. It looked to be weeping… blood. 

“What is that around the eyes?” she asked, moving closer to it as Ned followed dutifully. 

“Sap, the tree’s sap is red,” he explained.

“Oh.” 

“How remarkable,” Elia breathed as she stopped in front of it, removing a black, leather glove from her hand, to trace its beautifully sad face, the wood grazing her fingertips gracefully. 

“May I inquire on what visiting Dorne was like?” Ned asked patiently and Elia grasped where he was heading with that. 

“It was like a breath of fresh air, when one had been drowning for an eternity,” she shared idly, “And Starfall reunited me with my dearest friend, whom I had not seen for so long.” 

“The Lady Ashara Dayne,” Ned spoke, as if to himself. There was a stone-bench by the pond, to which he seated himself, staring out at the beautiful scenery. 

“Just the one,” Elia replied and donned the black glove, once more, taking a seat beside the lord, admiring the solemn beauty and the fresh air in her lungs

“How,” he cleared his throat before continuing, “How fares she?”

“She is well, Ned,” Elia shared, “So beautiful that the moon is put to shame in her presence… And the child is a lovely thing as well, adorably shy on the occasion. She has her mother’s eyes.” 

“Oh,” he breathed, swallowing hard, “Does she now?” 

“Yes,” Elia nodded, turning to meet his eyes, “But her father’s hair.” 

“That’s-That is lovely,” he said, turning to stare ahead, eyes glazing over. 

“Have you told anyone?” Elia inquired, wishing to know how many were aware of their lord’s secret. 

“No,” he shook his head, “I suspect that only the three of us know, in the entirety of this large and vast world.” 

“Let us keep it that way, I do not imagine the North takes kindly to bastards.”

“They do not,” he shook his head, “Cat would like it even less.” 

“Naella is a fine girl, Ned,” Elia murmured, “Named in your honor.” 

“Some would consider her a taint on my honor,” he mumbled, making the Dornishwoman glance at him sharply. 

“She is not. Neither of you were pledged.” 

“I wished to wed Ashara,” he told Elia solemnly, “I was to ask my father to make the arrangements when- When the war broke out and they perished like flies.” Elia had been too fixated with the beauty of this place and the realness of Eddard Stark that she forgot he had fought beside Robert Baratheon. _Beside the man that was to walk over my corpse and that of my children’s._

“When the world came crashing down upon all of us,” the Dornish queen finished when he could not, “Aye, she did, too.” 

“Duty came betwixt us and now; she seems little more than a beautiful fever dream, so far out of my reach.” 

“Will you visit your daughter?” she asked him, genuinely wondering, “Will your children ever know of their father’s first child?” 

“I wish to,” he nodded, “And I will send her nameday gifts, alongside letters, but will that be enough? Perhaps one day I will have to confess to Cat, in order for Naella to come and visit, but then Ashara would join us too, and for all the virtues of my wife… she is not without fault. She is only a human.” _Jealousy will likely ensue, yes. Ashara Dayne is frightening for a woman to have as the unknowing competitor._

“Perhaps the Gods will grant you peace of mind, in order to come up with a solution,” Elia wagered, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. 

***

“It is a bit tight,” Elia winced as the handmaiden, whose name she had unfortunately forgotten, was lacing the back of her emerald gown, embroidered with amber stones along the sides and on the shoulders. _Is it Walda?_ The Dornishwoman found herself yearning for Melly’s witty company.

“It is what you brought with you from King’s Landing, M’Queen,” the young woman said unsurely, desperately trying to finish lacing. 

_I tried everything on before we left, to make sure these situations would be avoided._ To be true; the queen had never been too large for any of her clothing, which was why it took her by such surprise. _Have I gotten fat?_ She wondered as she stared at herself in the mirror.

“Take your leave, your work is finished,” Elia told the girl, not unkindly and observed as the red-haired Wylla, or Walda or whatever she was called, vanished in a blur of pale pink. 

To be quite honest, the Dornish queen did not want to have tea with Lyanna this midday, but she could not indispose herself for the entire journey, even though there was legitimate cause for it. They were now four days into their stay at Winterfell and still, her sickness had not taken its leave. No matter how many arduous walks she took in the cold, fresh air-- the fatigue did not relinquish its grip on her, nor did the headaches and though Elia tried to eat as best she could, the mere thought of some of the sustenance made her stomach turn. 

Nonetheless; Elia had tried to be in her best spirits. She would not allow the North to witness a frail, weak queen. Therefore; she would have tea with Lady Catelyn, as well as gatherings where they and other ladies would sew and embroider. Then, she followed Viserys to the libraries once and then watched him spar. Rhaenys had wished to go to the kennels and pet the dogs, so they’d done that too. Then; there were the feasts, which were the most taxing by far. The Dornish queen would stay longer than she wished during most occasions-- Would smile falsely and jest, then she would take to her bed. 

Rhaegar had visited her two times or so, yet one of those times; he had only slept beside her and chosen not to claim his husbandly rights. That was because Elia had told him that she was not in the spirits for it and he had contented himself with only holding her that eve. Jaime was on her mind, more oft than not. His forlorn looks as Rhaegar would be public with his displays of affection for her, then his smiles when they would sit in the courtyards and watch the children play… Well, he would stand and she would sit. 

Elia twisted and turned as she gazed upon herself in the mirror, feeling more like a bloated pig than a queen. The gown was tight around her bosom and then the midsection, as well as her bottom. _How could I not notice this?_ she thought, horrified. _Has Jaime noticed?_ Had Rhaegar? Had everyone? Would they want her now, when she was growing plump? Elia did not understand how it could have happened; even when she had been pregnant with Aegon and Rhaenys, her hips had not widened greatly, nor her bosom. Quite the contrary; only her belly had seemed to swell. Why was it that she was gaining more womanly curves, just now?

The gown clung to her like a second skin and Elia wondered whether it would be considered too vulgar and inappropriate. _Will they call me the Dornish whore?_ However, there was no time to change gown now, so the Dornishwoman simply chose a green, large scarf and wrapped it in the crooks of her arms, allowing it to flow elegantly down her back-- Covering most of the troubled areas. _I must be late,_ she despaired. _I do not like being late._

With a quick pace, Elia followed the handmaiden and soon found herself in Lyanna’s chambers. They were quite different from hers and harbored accents of grey and blue, with dark walls and a large hearth-- with emblems hanging from the walls and furs in every color and shape. The floors were stone, not polished wood, like they had in King’s Landing. 

“Lyanna,” she greeted evenly, “Forgive me for my tardiness.” 

“Oh, it is nothing,” the younger queen smiled, dressed in a velvet gown of silver, with black embroidery of flowers along the sleeves, “Please sit,” she gestured toward the seats by a small table, stationed by the window that showed parts of the vast Godswood of Winterfell. Elia did as she was bid and had the servant pour them both a cup of steaming tea, before dismissing them. There were arrangements of cakes and sweets on the ornate platter, atop the marble table. 

“And what tea are we having this day?” Elia wondered as Lyanna took the seat in front of her.

“Elderflower,” the Northerner smiled, her hair done in one long braid,with a few strands left to frame her long face.

“How intriguing,” the Dornishwoman murmured as she lifted the cup to her lips and blew for it to cool, then taking a sip. It tasted crisp, light-- as if a cup of summer. Elia found herself greatly endeared toward the slightly sweet tea that smelled heavenly. 

“Is it to your liking?” Lyanna asked, taking a bite out of her strawberry tart.

“Greatly so,” the Dornish queen confessed, smiling, “It tastes like a cup of sunshine.” 

“I am glad,” the Northerner replied, “It is one of my favorites.” Elia eyed the lemon-cake on the platter and wondered if she should have one, after the earlier revelations that her body made. _Will Jaime still want me, If I grow fat and ugly?_

“Do you want one?” Lyanna asked politely as Elia chewed on her lip. _Yes, I do want one. But does that mean I should have one?_

“I do not know,” she smiled slightly, “It has come to my attention that I’m growing fat, so perhaps limitations should be made…” 

“Who said that to you?” the wolf-queen gasped, seeming taken aback by the casual way in which Elia mentioned it. 

“No one _had_ to say it,” the Dornishwoman smiled wryly, “My gown almost refusing to lace was proof enough of that.” 

“Perhaps it was an old one,” Lyanna offered and Elia had to give it to her, she was trying at the least. 

“No, newly commissioned. I’ve never worn it, unless one counts the time I tried all the gowns that were to be brought for the journey, to avoid this exact scenario.” 

“You are not fat!” Lyanna exclaimed, “If anything; you’ve grown to be all-the-more beautiful during this journey away. There is life in your eyes and barely anyone’s can leave you, for you look so lovely and regal.” 

“How kind of you to say that,” Elia frowned, never having heard Lyanna speak of her in such a manner. Of course Rhaegar would say such on the occasion, Arthur and Jaime, too, but Elia could never truly feel their words any longer. Everything always seemed so terribly empty, even though it was not. It is hard to accept oneself in another’s eyes, for they are not your own. Never clouded by the mask of cruelty. 

“Now have that lemon-cake, before I force it down your throat,” Lyanna warned, placing a piece on Elia’s plate. 

“Oh, alright,” the Dornishwoman chuckled and took a bite out of it, delighting in the sweet and tart taste, feeling lighter in spirits, already, “How is the North treating you?” That question seemed to dampen Lyanna’s spirits, which had not been Elia’s intention at all. 

“It is… Different- And I knew it would be,” she explained dismally, “Simply not in this way.” 

“Well, everything is different, it is up to us if we make it good or bad,” the Dornishwoman offered, trying to be somewhat positive. 

“They are cold now,” Lyanna frowned, “The people, even those I grew up alongside. They no longer care for my company and I… Cannot fault them.” 

“They lost, Lyanna,” Elia replied evenly, “They lost so greatly that it changed them fundamentally. And when one is miserable, they look to find the source of their misery-- To blame that. You and my husband are the objects they have chosen, rightfully so. Their sons are never coming home, their husbands died believing they fought for a stolen lady. Only to find out it was all for naught. It hardens the heart.” 

“And I understand that,” the girl whispered, “And sometimes I wish to die because of what I did. Perhaps it would all have been easier if I did.”

“You did not,” Elia replied sharply, “And your son needs you. It is time to accept the burdens we were given, based on the choices we did or did not make. We all suffer for them.” 

“It was foolish of me to presume that I could ever resume what I had in my youth,” Lyanna shook her head, “It is here no longer.” 

“Dead, like the rest of us.” _At least she is learning, at least she is aware of the cost. Sadness is a sweeter poison than anger. It damages the heart, but not to the extent that ignorance and rage does._

“My brother’s wife cares for me not,” the Northerner allowed, before scoffing, “And why should she? She lost the man she was to wed and love, all because of me.” 

“Family, duty, honor,” Elia mumbled, taking another sip of her summer tea. 

“I respected neither of those,” Lyanna sighed, “And look where it got me.” 

“Indeed,” Elia murmured. _There is no point to me lying. I am the most honest thing she has._ Perhaps the Northerner valued the fact that Elia would give her the truth, bitter as it was-- instead of coddling her and honeying it with lies. 

“I like our moments,” Lyanna frowned, meeting Elia’s gentle, brown eyes, “They are somewhat of a light in a consuming darkness. You never owed me anything but you’ve guided me nonetheless. Only a great woman would do that and I thank you for it, Elia. I thank you so dearly,” the Northerner finished in a whisper, placing one cold hand atop Elia’s warm one, laying dormant by the cup of elderflower tea. 

“We were all fooled,” she swallowed hard, wondering why her heart could not bring itself to hate the woman who had almost stolen all she held dear, “Some, more gravely than others.” 

***

“That is enough,” Rhaegar said, turning to face her on the bed, “I will make you see the maester, if it is the last thing that I do.”

“I am fine,” she shushed him, “I am only tired, let me sleep.”

“You have been tired for over one-and-a-half-moon now, it seems!” he exclaimed, “And we’ve been here for five days, a week’s turn, soon. I fear for you, it is not getting any better and I cannot stand to see you in this pain.” 

“Right now,” she exhaled, “I am in _pain_ because you will not quit nagging me, Rhaegar. Sleep.” 

“No,” he told her, “Or- yes, we will sleep, but then you will visit the maester in the morn, Elia, no more of this stalling,” he warned her, “Or I will be very wroth.” 

“I like it when you are wroth,” the Dornishwoman tried to tease, to get him in better spirits, “You get so adorably sullen.” 

“Don’t,” he told her seriously, “Promise me, Elia.” _Well… What is the harm in seeing this damned maester?_ Elia already knew what he was to say… _Recommend me foods to eat, what to drink, perhaps hand me a few vile concoctions._ It was all the same, she had walked this road time upon time before. This was her way, ever since she was naught but a babe in arms. _It will take its leave._

“Oh, alright,” she sighed, “Must you plead like a widowed wife?”

“I do,” Rhaegar leaned in, indigo eyes like a calm sea, “It is the only way you will listen to me,” he said, kissing her lips tenderly and she thought of how Jaime had also expressed his concern. Yet he was not close enough to her, to see all that truly came to pass. The restless nights, the fatigue and horrid headaches.

“Sleep,” she murmured, turning around and feeling his arms embrace her, dragging her close to his chest, with his head in the crook of her neck. 

“Goodnight, Elia,” he sighed. 

She woke quite late, usually she would be up before Rhaegar, yet there he was; already dressed and seated atop the edge of the bed that was covered in samite, black sheets and adorned with black, brown and white pelts. 

“Good day, my love,” he smiled softly, stroking her calf.

“How long have you been sitting and staring at me like that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“For an unseemly amount of time, being a man,” he grinned, moving closer to her as she sat up, caressing her shoulders and neck tenderly, “You do look a vision.” 

“A fat cow of a vision,” she scoffed and moved to rise, yet he held her still. 

“No,” Rhaegar shook his head sharply, fingers trailing down her neck to the swell of her breasts, “Beautiful and tantalizing-- a temptress sent to haunt me,” he sighed, leaning down to kiss her neck, lips travelling down her delicate skin, his silver-locks tickling her jaw. 

“Ah,” she hissed as he began fondling her breasts, “That is strange,” she murmured to herself. 

“Are you alright?” Rhaegar looked up at her, eyes of molten indigo, soft and inquiring. 

“Yes,” she nodded, “I am just sore, is all,” Elia explained, cupping his face and placing a soft kiss on his lips, “But now I must get dressed.” 

“Mhm,” he stood up, offering an arm, swiftly pulling her close as she accepted it with a yelp, “I shall leave you to it,” the king whispered against her ear, placing a final kiss on the top of her head, “Do not forget what you promised.” 

“Okay,” she nodded softly, watching him take his leave. 

***

The maester was a thin, small man with thinning, grey hair-- Dressed in robes of grey wool, with long sleeves. His solar was cluttered with herbs and concoctions of different kinds. _I wonder how he manages to keep track of it all._

“What brings you here, My Queen?” the man asked kindly, urging her to take a seat on the chair. 

“I’ve been feeling ill for a rather long time,” Elia shared, fiddling with her hands. _I never liked visiting the maester’s. Their prodding and poking unnerves me._

“Ah, I see,” he began, “Well, first you must begin by telling me of what symptoms you are experiencing, so that we can more accurately find the core of the problem.” 

“Well…” Elia faltered, at a loss of words now that she needed them the most, “I’ve been greatly fatigued, plagued with headaches and a weariness that will not take its leave… Ever since Starfall.” 

“Mm,” the old man hummed in acknowledgement, “Any other changes that you can recall? In regards to meals, body and such?” 

“I, uh, I’ve been having troubles with the food here, I find it too… meaty and tasteless, therefore I have not been eating very much and then… I do not feel the urge to. The thought of some food make me sick and therefore, I indulge in sweets and cakes but that has made me fatten and I am not pleased about that,” she murmured, feeling his eyes on her. _He does not sicken me like Pycelle does. Nor does he seem inept._

“I see, so you experience fatigue and headaches, lack of appetite and favor certain sweets and cakes… You have grown larger, according to you, is there anything else?” 

“I,” she faltered, suddenly the image of the morning glared harshly in her mind, “My uhm, I have been experiencing a soreness around my bosom… My gowns no longer fit like they used to around those areas.” 

“Would you mind allowing me to perform an examination?” he asked, “It will require you to remove your gown.” _Well… Pycelle already stuck his shrivelled hand inside me, at least this one asks._ Besides; She really did not have anything to lose. 

“Alright,” she exhaled and began unlacing the gown of the day, a simple one of red cotton-- It did not take long to unlace and she was left in her smallclothes and red shift.

“Please lay down atop that table,” Maester Luwin directed her kindly and she did as bid, feeling the cold marble through her shift. Then, the maester began prodding at her with… surprisingly gentle and competent hands, all the while making inquiries. They were not at all like Pycelle’s cold and bony fingers and Luwin’s conversation as he was doing it made her feel more at ease. The maester inquired on how she was finding the North, sustenance, moon’s blood and such-- Meaningless conversation; yet it made her feel comfortable.

“You may redon your clothing, My Queen,” the maester said and there was something hidden in the tone, that she could not unearth. Yet she only nodded and dressed quickly, taking her seat by the chair and staring expectantly at him, feeling that he would certainly say it was a sickness, like that of her youth. 

“Have you come to any conclusion?” she asked him, smiling slightly, for he looked quite grave. 

“Yes, My Queen, I have,” he began, meeting her brown eyes with green ones, “You are with child.” For a moment, time seemed to stand still and her mind would not move. Her only response was laughter. 

“No,” she gasped in-between giggles, “I cannot be.” 

“You are, Your Grace, I am most certain,” he replied, staring at her with worry. She continued to laugh for a few moments and then the words sunk, truly sunk in. It felt like a stab to her gut. _I cannot be,_ she wanted to scream, _Pycelle told me so! He told me there was no possibility of it._

“You do not understand, maester Luwin,” she shook her head, swallowing hard, “Pycelle, the grand-maester-- He told me- He told me that my womb was too scarred to bear another child, that there was no possibility of it.” 

“But you are, Your Grace-- As sure as there is night and day,” the grey-dressed man replied solemnly, “And I do not know why this maester told you this, for there is no way of knowing that a womb is too scarred to carry. Of course, there are new maesters in the citadel who claim to have found such ways but I do not reckon your maester is one of them, is he?” 

“No,” she shook her head dismally, “He is not.” 

Then her world came crashing down upon her, like a bucket of ice-water. She was with child. 

“How long?” she asked, “I mean, how far along am I?”

“There is no way to tell for sure, My Queen,” he shook his head, “More than one moon, but no more than three would be my wager.” _That means…_ It was within the times she was bedded by both Jaime _and_ Rhaegar. That meant that it could be either one that was the father and she could not breathe. Would she live long enough to even see it? What if it was born with golden hair and emerald eyes? Would they both face the headsman's axe? What was she to do? _Pycelle told me I could bear no more children, he told me!_ The last pregnancy had nearly taken her life. This one meant sure death, they had told her; bear another child and the Stranger shall be your last kiss. 

“I will die,” she whispered, shaking her head, “I will die, they told me. The Stranger will be my last kiss.” Tears began escaping her eyes, trickling slow, slow, slow, fast, fast. An utter despair of her predicament took hold of the Dornishwoman. _Who will tell the nursemaids that Rhaenys does not like to sleep without the light on? Who will make sure that Aegon has his favorite toy? The one Jaime gifted him. Who will kiss them goodnight? Will they even remember me as they grow older?_ Oh, she did not want to die. Elia was clinging to her life with every fibre of her being; ultimately it was not her decision to make. 

“I could not bear another child, for it would cost me my life,” she wept, “This is it, this is what he left me for. His third head that I could not bear; he cared enough to not sentence me to death, but now it has come, nevertheless,” Elia despaired, “We would not have- Not if we weren’t sure-- Pycelle told me I could bear no more babes.” 

“Calm now, child,” Luwin placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, wiping her tears away with the other one, “I am well-versed in the fact that another child could claim your life. It was all the realm spoke of… When your husband rode away with Lyanna in tow.” 

“I do not want to die,” she confessed in her weakness, “My children need me, I am not finished yet-- I do not want to go.” 

“My Queen,” the maester pleaded softly, “You must listen now and do so carefully.”

“What?” she asked, sniffling and looking at the man through tear-stained eyes and cheeks. 

“On my table over there lay dangerous herbs, with such potency that it can cause a woman with child… to lose that child,” he eyed her carefully, gaze as intense as a summer wave, “You mustn’t ingest them by accident.” Elia sensed what he was doing… He was offering her a way out of the horrible predicament… Or was it a test? Her time in King’s Landing had made her paranoid. _Perhaps he is one of Lord Varys’s spies, it is always the good ones, the ones you least suspect._

Rhaegar would not urge her to keep the child, but the fact that she may have gotten rid of it without his leave, may give way to weeds of doubt to grow in his heart, in regards to his Dornish wife. Then there was the fact of… _Yes, Pycelle told me that I would perish… But do I not want another babe to hold in my arms? Even if it costs your life?_ A spiteful corner of her mind inquired, _even if you will not live long enough to hold it? Even if you die and leave your other children alone? Perhaps it will be for naught, perhaps the child will be a true Lannister bastard and have to suffer being killed in the cradle? Mayhaps you and your knight will have to pay for it with your heads._ What was she to do? She was damned either way and the infinite possibilities gave her a raging headache.

“My Queen?” The maester inquired, “My Queen, are you listening?” 

“Yes,” she nodded, stifling a sob, “Yes.” 

“I was stating that on the occasion, these herbs do not work, especially if the ingester is too far along in her pregnancy. There can also be terrible consequences, grave ones that could cost the woman her life, in the form of bleeding out.” 

“So they are damned if they do and damned if they don’t?” she asked wryly, laughing but the sound bordered on a sob, “Isn’t that just splendid?” 

“I am so sorry, My Queen,” the kind man shook his head, “It is not an easy path you are walking.” 

Elia looked down, feeling the tears trickle down her cheek steadily. She touched her belly through the woolen fabric and wished to weep, to weep so fiercely that the damned Gods would be able to hear her. Then, she dried her tears, stood up and gazed at the man intensely. 

“Maester Luwin,” she began, “You will notify neither love nor lord of this. I will tell the king myself and the rest. Please do not betray my trust.” 

“As you bid, Your Grace. I am here to serve.” 

Then, Elia walked straight to her chambers, trying to keep her thoughts in check and her sobs unuttered. When she was finally in the safety of her quarters; she sat crouched in front of the fire and wept. She wept for the babe growing inside of her; she wept for her children. She wept for Jaime. 

And she wept for herself. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might change the chapter title, idk.  
> Also; Lol y'all thought that was gonna be the only drama? Just wait until the next few chapters... things are spicing tf up. :)


	24. Bursting at the seams.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think that Queen Naerys was a woman to be admired. She suffered so much but endured.”  
> “A well-known trait of many a women in our world. She was not given much, to be sure, yet she persevered. Though I am of the opinion that women should not have to… suffer so much at the behest of men. Yet there she was. Here you are.” His last comment struck the Dornishwoman unawares.  
> “Here I am?” she asked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, long time no see but we're backkk with another chapter and it's looooong so buckle up.  
> Idek what this is tbh... It was difficult to get in the groove of writing it... but once I did; it flowed like water. 
> 
> Gonna go sleep now lol we have online school tomorrow due to COVID-19 so that's gonna be interesting. My country was late to the game but they did close the schools so wow...
> 
> Everything was cancelled... our school-trip as well :(
> 
> However! This means that as I'll be home, updates will probably (hopefully) be more frequent... so there's that I guess. I'm happy to be graduating next year tho cause damnnn all these 2020 graduates having their shit cancelled is honestly really sad. 
> 
> But with our luck next year's probs gonna give us the bubonic plague or something so I shouldn't jinx shit.
> 
> Anyway don't forget to leave a commenttt down below & a kudos if you enjoyed the story!
> 
> Until next time,  
> Stay safe, y'all. Social distancing-- Stay home if you're ill, don't risk infecting those at a high risk (aka older people.)

“Elia,” came Rhaegar’s voice from beyond the closed canopy of satin. He sounded worried, perhaps he had cause to be. She had not left her chambers since she found out about her ill fortune, or perhaps it was a good thing but not, all at the same time. Was she willing to die for that babe she yearned for? The one who caused all their woes by refusing to arrive in the first place. 

The Dornish queen said nothing, she simply continued to stare at the curtain of the canopy, her back turned to the king. Her mind felt empty, her chest heavy. There was no urge to reply, no will to speak at all. She just wanted to lay there until dusk fell, silent and still-- unmoving. A statue made out of stone. Elia prayed for the world to stop, that they would not grow older or tainted with time. To just be as they were for all of time. What a lovely dream, one that was always bursting at the seams. Damned. They were all so terribly damned. Then again; Aren’t most kings and their queens? 

“Elia,” he sighed again and opened the canopy, infringing upon the sacred area of peace. Her eyes watered but she could not weep. All her tears had been drained, “You sent your maids and ladies away,” Rhaegar continued quietly, “And you leave your food untouched. What is wrong? People are beginning to whisper and the children are wondering where their mother is.” _Aegon and Rhaenys, yes._ Her beautiful children-- Good and kind, having inherited the best of their parents _and none of our vices...hopefully._ She would die and leave them behind, never having known them enough to begin with. Not nearly enough, it would never be enough. 

When she made no move to reply or acknowledge his presence, the king moved to lay beside her, putting one arm around her waist, his face so close that she could feel his hot breath behind her head. 

“Tell me what is wrong and I shall fix it,” he pleaded, kissing her hair. _You cannot fix this,_ she wanted to scream. _This is far beyond either of our control. This bastard or trueborn will claim my life, like as not and I have no wish to die._

She could drink the moontea, consume the herbs that might undo the mess… yet a part of her hesitated. _I could die, or I could live attempting it. It may work and it may not. Perhaps it would seem to work but inevitably fail._ Elia had heard rumors of women who attempted to rid themselves of their children and failed- instead giving birth to terrible, twisted things. _Jaime’s baby,_ a voice said, _his own flesh and blood-- forever tying you to your beloved._ The Dornishwoman had dreamed of it-- A beautiful girl with gold for hair and emerald stones as eyes, grinning with her father’s smile. _Or Rhaegar’s,_ another said. _You were far too preoccupied with whoring yourself to know._ It was not right for that spiteful voice to be so cruel, but thoughts are ever our closest friends and fiercest enemies. They leave no stone unturned. 

“I am tired, Rhaegar. You know my constitution is delicate, you’ve always known,” she rasped, her voice rough like desert sands-- Unused for so long. 

“I know you,” he whispered, lips against her ear, “And this is not only due to your fragile health. Besides; This past year you have been far stronger and more robust than ever before. What occurred, what is wrong?” 

“Nothing.” _Everything._

“What did the maester say,” he demanded, steel lacing the ends of his words. Her ambiguity was proving to irk the king and Elia was aware, she could simply not bring herself to care.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, now please be quiet, Rhaegar,” Elia pleaded, a headache ravaging her mind. Most like it was due to the hunger, thirst and babe growing inside of her but she could not bring herself to move. The large bed, canopy and furs brought her a solace that the outside simply could not. Perhaps the Godswood would. 

“No,” he began frustratedly, “You _will_ tell me.” 

“Nothing!” She huffed, “Nothing I’ve not been told before now be quiet or leave! I am in no mood for company.” Her comment seemed to take the king aback, for he grew broodingly silent and spoke no more for a long time. The only way one could know he was even there and not a ghost, was by the way he absentmindedly drew circles into her wrist with the pad of his thumb. Then, he moved closer, tightening his grip around her. 

“I love you,” the king told her and once upon a time it would make her heart beat faster. Now it made her melancholy, “So fucking much that it kills me.” What an odd choice of words. _‘I may be carrying the bastard of the man who killed your father’_ she wanted to say but would never. 

Some moments after that, the Dornishwoman fell asleep in the embrace of her husband and it brought her a solace that she would continue to yearn for. In her sleep, she did not think, did not feel, did not imagine Jaime or Rhaegar’s reactions; did not think of her treacherous heart or the love it kept on giving those who deserved it, and those who did not. When she woke, from the distant sound of her door opening, she knew not whether it was night or day. Then, her serene space was infiltrated once more, via a hand pulling a curtain of the canopy to the side and placing a warm hand on her bare shoulder. 

“You are pale as a ghost,” Rhaegar remarked, indigo eyes like an ocean out to swallow her whole, “I brought you a vegetable stew, I know you do not care much for meat,” he continued kindly, placing the tray on the table beside her bed, leaning in to stroke her cheek, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

“I am not hungry,” she shook her head, closing the eyes that looked more red than brown in the lighting of the room. 

“But you _will_ eat,” he told her determinedly, “I will not have you waste away right before my eyes, Elia. Think of your children, Aegon asks for your kisses goodnight, Rhaenys yearns for your vivid stories. I yearn for you. Rest, get well and let us put this progress behind us. It has gone on for too long,” the king sighed wearily, moving to touch the tray consisting of a bowl of stew, bread and a cup of milk-- gently scooting it closer to her.

“Sit up,” Rhaegar bade her and she noticed his long, silver-gold hair was devoid of its usual braid and crown. It made him look younger, yet the mark of kingship weighed upon the man, nonetheless. Wearily, she sat up, placed a few pillows behind her back, as to provide support. Yet her body felt rigid and stale, so she stretched with a feline grace, delighting in the waves of pleasure that the cracks and creaks brought upon.

“What?” Elia frowned as she noticed her husband’s gaze that seemed to penetrate through her very soul. 

The king’s eyes did not leave hers, yet his hand reached out and travelled down her cheek, moving to trace her collarbone with tender caresses. 

“My beautiful corpse queen of a bride,” he sighed, eyes burdened by a thousand troubles. Elia felt her throat constrict at the words, eyes watering-- Wanting to dig them a grave of their own and never feel their touch choking her again. 

“Do not call me that,” she told him firmly, to which he solemnly nodded and handed her the bowl of stew. 

She managed half of it before the thought of more made her feel ill. 

“You need more,” Rhaegar told her, to which the Dornishwoman shook her head and instead began nibbling on a piece of bread to satisfy him. 

“How do you feel now?” he inquired and she wished to weep, once more. _I feel sad, Rhaegar, so terribly sad. Hopeless, too and perchance a bit shameful._ Why should she feel shame for something he had done, as well? 

It was not a simple question and therefore begot no easy answers, for her heart was ever the mercurial thing. It was just… He was being so kind and thoughtful and considerate that she felt slightly ashamed for loving another man and that the child quickening inside her womb may not be his. It made her feel equal parts dirty and clean and she was wondering how that could be. How she could not hate him, even after all the terrible things he had done to her. When she looked at him and saw the man he had been on Dragonstone, her heart would squeeze painfully and a tightening would find its way to her chest. _A memory, all he is, is a memory, but too much of a vivid one._

“Better,” she replied instead and make no mistake; Elia wanted to tell him but it was not the time. She lacked the courage to relay that she was with child and would most likely die. Rhaegar was a man that in many ways was still a boy and it did him no kindness. He would not receive it well, she knew this especially, for she had witnessed what kind of darkness claimed him, as Rhaella laid in the throes of death. 

“Good,” he smiled and leaned in, placing a tender kiss on her lips, cupping her face, “Would you mind if I stayed the eve?” he then inquired softly, staring into her eyes. 

“No, I would not,” she allowed softly, took a few sips of the milk and laid back down, closing her eyes. Her troubles could wait until the morn. For now; she wanted to be young and held-- not captive to her mind. 

“Tomorrow marks seven days of our stay in Winterfell,” the King murmured gently as he held her in his arms, “Maester Aemon will arrive to meet us and shall stay until our last day here. I hope you will be well enough to meet him.”

“Your great-great uncle, he is coming here?” Elia asked, opening her eyes. She had always liked to meet the famed, oldest Targaryen. _They say he is wise, that he can give the answers we so desperately search for._

“Yes, he is.” 

“Does Viserys know? He spoke of wanting to meet him, moons ago in Dorne.” Some would be surprised that she deigned herself to remember such but Viserys was dear to her heart. So terribly dear. 

“Yes, my brother is very excited regarding the visit and those high spirits have begun to get Rhaenys excited, as well.” The statement saddened Elia. _I should isolate myself like this, simply because of my own stupidity._ She missed her children, Viserys too but the sadness had consumed the Dornish queen-- Would choke her to death with its tainted hands. But what else was she to do? Once she told anyone, the world would come crashing down upon all of them and the uncertainty of it all made her wish to scream. _Why did I have to be so stupid?_ Elia wished to scream. _Am I anything but a harlot now? Not knowing which man has fathered my child, which man’s kin that I am to die for._

“I will meet him,” she allowed softly, “I want to.” 

“I do not wish for you to overexert yourself, he will be here until we leave. There is time.” Never enough of it, I fear.

“Tomorrow,” Elia replied stubbornly, “I will.” And I shall see Aegon and Rhaenys and Viserys, too. When would she tell Rhaegar? When would she tell Jaime? What was she to do? The Dornishwoman could not think of that now. She would put it on hold for as long as she could. 

*** 

“Mama!” Rhaenys squealed, a blur of red and brown, running toward Elia with glee. The courtyard was slightly chilly, yet the sun was out and made everything glisten and shine. She was dressed in a heavy, woolen cloak and a plain, green gown encrusted with jade-stones. Elia hoped it hid her growing figure. 

Gently, the Dornishwoman bent down to embrace her firstborn, kissing the girl’s cheek. 

“My sweet girl,” the Dornish queen sighed and tightened her grip, the love for her children being overwhelming.

“I missed you, mama,” the princess mumbled against Elia’s hair.

“I have missed you too, all of you,” she made sure to say as she let the girl down onto the floors, turning her gaze upon Viserys who was holding Aegon’s hand. 

Her son let go of his uncle’s hand upon noticing her gaze and hurried toward her, snivelling slightly and weeping fully as he was in her embrace.

“I was not gone for long, my love,” she sighed as she held him, wiping away his tears with a mother’s gentle love. It tore at her heart to see him hurt, her gentle boy-- always mindful of others, even for his age. 

“Don’t go away again,” Aegon blubbered, gazing into her eyes with large, unworldly, purple ones of his own-- glistening like little gems. 

“She will not, My Prince,” Ser Arthur interrupted when Elia’s own words seemed to fail her. Jaime was away with Rhaegar and a few of the other Kingsguard, to fetch the Maester Aemon. But who was he to make those promises? Upon witnessing Aegon so distraught because of her short absence, she wondered what he would do, were she to die this time. _I will die this time,_ the Dornish Queen thought dismally, _and they will force him to harden his gentle heart to stone._

“You promise?” Aegon asked Ser Arthur, snivelling softly-- Making Elia hold him tighter, leaning down to kiss those silver-gold locks atop his head, so like his father’s… and Ser Arthur’s.

“I swear it upon Dawn,” the handsome knight smiled softly. 

But how could he have known? 

After that, she gave Ser Arthur an appreciative nod and turned toward Viserys with a smile, leaning down to kiss his cheek. 

“I trust you have taken exceptional care of your little niece and nephew in my absence?” 

“To the best of my abilities,” the boy shrugged, “They missed you.” That tore at her heart, gnawing its way to her bones. 

“I missed you too, my loves,” Elia replied and beckoned her eyes to stop tearing up. _This is not the time._

“Maester Aemon is arriving today,” Prince Viserys shared eagerly, “I hope to meet him.” 

“And you will,” Elia chuckled, “He most like cannot wait to meet you.” The boy smiled, lilac eyes catching in the distant rays of the sun. He turned slightly solemn, almost worried as he gazed upon her.

“But you are better now?” he inquired, “I do not like it when you are ill. It frightens me.” _Of course it frightens him,_ she thought despairingly, _he almost lost his mother as she recovered in her bed of blood._ Elia realised that he must have thought she suffered of a similar affliction. 

“Yes, I am better, Viserys. Do not worry.” 

Then, they all took a walk, Aegon demanding to be held by Elia. She indulged him, even if some may have thought it would be wrong to. Westeros bred boys to be men at an early age. The Dornishwoman wanted her son to be young for a little longer-- to only be her sweet and gentle Aegon. It would be many years before he was a king. Rhaenys was holding both Arthur’s and Viserys’s hands and it made the Dornish queen smile. _Men will flock around her like moths to a flame when she is older, to only catch a tendril of that fire._ Would Elia be alive to witness it? 

Their walk was silent but no words needed to be spoken. All of them were lost in their own worlds… And Aegon had fallen asleep in her arms, a comforting weight upon her chest. Oh, how she loved them. How she loved them all. Would she still be there to do the same, in one years time or five years? No one knew, least of all Elia. She began wondering who was the father of the child she was carrying. Was it her brave Ser Jaime? Or solemn Rhaegar? Who did she wish it to be?

The question was not an easy one and perhaps it would never be answered, would the child take after her. It gave her a headache to even think of, but most of all; it inspired a wretched fear in her gut. They were doomed if the child came out every inch a Lannister. There would be no hope for its life, then. Nor Jaime’s. Perhaps she would be allowed to live, because of Rhaegar’s apparent love for her, but he would never trust her again and there would be great animosity. Even if he had done the same to her, with Lyanna and Aemon. 

Of course she had dreamed of a child with Jaime, but all it could ever be, was just that. It would be no kindness to bring a child of his into their lives. Where it would either face death or a life of not knowing who its true father was. It would be cruel, to both her and Jaime and the child. If she lived long enough to gaze upon it, that was. _It would be much safer for all of us, would the child be Rhaegar’s._

Elia felt equal parts clean and filthy, for she had bedded two men and knew not who the father of the quickening inside of her was. She had tried to trace it back, but her true symptoms had begun in the very end of Starfall, and even so, she did not know if they were signs of a child or simply her fears of travelling to Winterfell. It was upon the damned road that they truly began and by then… by then she had already been bedded by Jaime for over a moon’s turn, along with Rhaegar. 

What was she to do? _Should I take the herbs and hope I do not die attempting to rid myself of this?_ Or would she take her chances, however ruined and terrible that they were, because she wanted another babe to call her own? Because Aegon and Rhaenys were growing older and she wished for one more piece of herself to love and hold? What a terrible predicament she was in and it would only grow worse, after people found out about it. 

“Shall we head inside, Your Grace?” came Arthur’s tender inquiry, “It is a bit chilly.” Elia looked at the man she had once loved more than life itself, nodded and began returning to the castle. He cared for her still, mayhaps loved her too. No, she knew he did. But she could not think of that, not now. 

They were ghosts. To be left buried, before they haunted every single soul in the castle. 

*** 

“Oh, you needn’t have made all this effort for me,” came Maester Aemon’s soft, gravelly voice, as the royal family, alongside the Starks greeted him upon his arrival, “I am but a frozen, old man who bleats too much for my own good.” 

“Far from it,” Rhaegar replied strongly as he stood beside his kinsman, “And your words are wisdom, not bleatings.” 

“Sometimes I think the young flatter the old far too much,” the former Targaryen prince chuckled, then he muttered something along the lines of _‘gods be good’_ as he laid his eyes upon Elia, standing with Aegon, Rhaenys and Viserys beside her. 

“My eyes have begun to fail me of late, giving way to falsehoods in imagery,” he explained, taking small steps forward and bowing his head.

“Maester Aemon,” she smiled, offering her hand, which he kissed.

“Queen Elia Martell,” he noted in a soft voice that simply begot attention, “The flower of Dorne. I saw another Dornish queen in my youth, how very lovely that I shall meet one in my old age, too.” 

“Your grandmother,” Elia nodded, “The Queen Mariah.” 

“Oh, yes,” the shrunken, wise man acknowledged, “A good woman. I have heard the same of you.” 

“You are too kind,” she smiled, noting that his eyes were the same shade of purple as Aegon’s. 

“Seldom a word used to describe me,” he smiled slightly, “But I shall thank you humbly for it, nonetheless.” 

“Aegon, Rhaenys, Viserys,” the Dornish queen begot the youngest Targaryens’ attention, “Greet your uncle.” 

“But Vissy, uncle Oberyn and Doran are my uncles,” the princess frowned, trying to comprehend what relation the old man had to her. 

“He is your great-great-great uncle,” Viserys explained patiently, stroking his niece’s cheek. 

“Okay,” Rhaenys shrugged, curtsying properly in front of her kinsman, earning a chuckle. 

“She reminds me of my sister, Rhae,” Aemon shared, a fondness appearing in his eyes as he reached a pale hand out to stroke his great-great-great niece’s cheek. 

“My name starts with Rhae,” Rhaenys beamed, ecstatic to have made the correlation.

“It does,” Elia grinned. 

“I am Viserys,” the prince mumbled as the attention of the maester turned to him.

“Of course you are,” Maester Aemon recognised, “The one who is as fond of reading as he is sparring.” 

“I would love to hear what you have to share on astrology,” the prince said shyly, looking down at the ground.

“Ah, the stars?” he asked, smiling fondly at the king’s brother, “The ladies have a special fondness for men who know of those.” 

“I don’t want to do it for ladies,” Viserys grumbled, cheeks heating up at the remark.

“Of course you do not, clever boy,” Maester Aemon laughed, ruffling the prince’s silver-gold curls. 

“Aegon,” Elia told her son softly. He was being extraordinarily inseparable from her and the reason why, made her melancholy. Her sweet prince, the one who had been so gentle, even from the start. _He never kicked half-as-much as Rhaenys, nor did he wail as much as his sister had._ A sensitive young boy, he was gifted with charm and wit. It was hard to come across such well-bred boys of high birth.

“And who do we have here?” the maester asked gently, eyeing the little prince tenderly.

“Egg,” Rhaenys shared, “And Ae is over there,” she pointed to Lyanna who was holding a sleepy Aemon. 

“Egg,” the maester remarked and there was almost sadness to his words, a melancholy remembrance, “I had a brother who was called that, once.” 

“Did he look like Egg?” the princess inquired sharply and the maester nodded. 

“Though he was a smaller child, yet the hair is the same. Only my Egg’s eyes were a deeper purple.” 

“Go on, sweetling,” Elia urged her son and he finally relented, moving closer to the old maester and bowed clumsily-- making Elia’s heart feel light again. 

Then she looked up and noticed that Jaime’s eyes were on her like emerald stones, burning through whatever cover. Rhaegar was preoccupied witnessing the scene in front of him, which was why he did not speak. But Jaime’s eyes spoke volumes, he was worried. _Of course he is,_ her thoughts chided her, _you refused to leave your chambers for an extended period of time. Of course he worried, any sane man would._ She wanted to kiss him, to be held by him, to be soothed by him.

She stood still. 

Then, when he was finished greeting the king’s first son, he turned to Lyanna who held his namesake. 

“Your Grace,” he acknowledged, “The tales of you reach even the most dismal parts of the North.” Elia had an inkling that his meaning was not entirely positive. _This man has witnessed almost a hundred years of war, death and gore. Of course he knew about the prophecy and indulged my daft husband but I do not think he knew to what extent Rhaegar would go. None of us did, not until it was too late._

“Maester Aemon,” the Northerner smiled, “My brother Benjen has mentioned your wisdom and so has my husband.” 

“Your brother is a fine ranger,” the old man shared, “One of the finest I have seen. House Stark should be proud on that account.” 

“Thank you,” Lord Eddard chimed in, his voice strangely sad. _On what grounds did young Benjen join the Night’s Watch?_ Elia wondered. 

“I speak only the truth.” 

“Say hello, Aemon,” Lyanna beckoned her son, the quiet prince. His hair had grown out, as dark as his mother’s and though his eyes were the Stark grey, they held the same solemn intensity as his father’s Valyrian ones. 

“Hello,” the boy said shyly.

“We share the same name,” the maester told him kindly, stroking a chubby cheek, “You, young; I, old.” 

“You were named for Aemon the Dragonknight, I hear,” Elia told the maester, thinking of the Kingsguard who loved his queen far too well. _And they ended in tragedy. Both of them. Perhaps in death, they were together at last; when in life, they had been forbidden to._

“My great-great-uncle,” the maester nodded, “Or great-grandfather. The tales differ, we must choose to believe one or the other. But… what matter does it make, in the end? For they are all dead and gone and bones.”

“I want to be as skilled as the Dragonknight,” Viserys shared, earning a chuckle from the maester.

“Every young boy’s dream is to be,” he shared, “And considering the tales of your prowess, I do not think you should meet any great difficulty of reaching that standard.” At the comment, the young prince blushed, once more. A sweet boy, he was.

“Will you tell me of him some time?” Elia asked, “I always had a fascination for them and who better to tell the tale, than the one who knew the people closest to him?” 

“My grandfather did share a few tales with me, regarding the Dragonknight, as well as queen Naerys. I should be happy to relay what I can recall of them, My Queen.” 

“How splendid,” Elia beamed.

Once the greetings were finished, Rhaegar took to his chambers, to prepare for the coming feast in the maester’s honor, later that eve. Elia, as well as Lyanna and Lady Catelyn followed their youngest children to the nursery and put them down for their afternoon nap. Viserys and Rhaenys had lessons with their septa and maester and by the time all was said and done, Elia felt weary. Aegon hadn’t wanted her to leave, but she had given him a kiss goodnight and promised she would be present for the later feast, to which he had grudgingly let her go. It had only made her all-the-more melancholy regarding the terrible predicament she was in. _My death will strike all of them hard and I do not want it to. I want to be here until they are old, with children and grandchildren of their own._

When they were finished with that, all three women departed to matters of other importance. Elia had begun to return to her chamber, Ser Jaime walking behind her quietly but then she thought otherwise. 

“Would you wish to accompany me for a walk in the courtyard, Jaime?” she asked, having made sure there was no one in their immediate vicinity. 

“Of course,” he nodded and moved to walk beside her, so terribly handsome in the light of the afternoon sun. 

They happened upon a few servants and other people as they were walking, which prohibited her from speaking freely, but then they moved closer to the outskirts where there were almost no people at all. _Everyone is preoccupied preparing for the feast._ Suddenly, she felt a slight touch to her hand, Jaime’s fingers reaching out for a secret caress, barely even there. 

“I worried for you,” he sucked in a sharp breath, staring straight ahead, “When you refused to come outside,” he faltered, “I was so fucking worried and I could not even make any inquiries.” 

“I am sorry, Jaime,” she whispered, turning to meet his eyes. They passed a large tower that looked rather abandoned.

“You are always so fucking sorry,” he shook his head, “Always.” 

“Well?” She inquired, “What else can I be? My life is nothing but a pitiful volume, filled with varying acts of sorrow and pain.” 

“That is not all there is to your life!”

“I know! But it has plagued most of it, not even you can deny,” she retorted, “But you bring me joy, Jaime. Never forget that. It hurts me to hurt you, surely you know that?”

“Where are you going?” he asked suddenly, frowning softly.

“That tower looks abandoned,” Elia shared, lifting her skirts slightly, so as to not fully muddy them when she walked across the grassy plains. 

“Wait!” he hissed and walked at a faster pace, until he was beside her, “We should not, there may be outlaws or something of the sort living there.”

“Then let us be stealthy,” she murmured, “And leave if we notice something out of the ordinary.” 

As it turned out, the tower was indeed abandoned, old and dusty. _I should most like not be here._ It seemed like more of a watchtower, as the entrance beheld a large, spiralling staircase that led to the top. 

“Do you want to climb to the top?” he asked and she shook her head. They were covered from sight now, anyway. 

“Come here,” Elia beckoned him and opened her arms. With evenly paced steps, the knight moved closer to her, then he got on his knees and put his head against her chest and arms around her hips. 

“What happened to you?” he asked as she toyed with his hair and kissed the top of his head. 

“I-” she faltered, feeling the tears burning in her eyes and the sob choking her throat.

“Tell me,” he beckoned her gently, moving back to meet her eyes with worried emerald ones of his own. 

“I-” she could not get the words out, “The maester Luwin, he told me…” 

“What did he tell you?” 

“I am with child, Jaime,” she whispered, feeling the tears trickle down her cheeks, “And I know not which one you is the father.” 

“Wait,” Jaime stood up, backed away and shook his head, seeming as if he could barely comprehend her statement, “You cannot have more children- you told me that Pycelle-” 

“-I thought so too,” she shared, a whimper escaping her throat, “I thought so too.” 

“Was that why you refused to leave your chambers?” Dismally, the Dornish queen nodded. 

“I do not know what to do, Jaime?” she cried, “I will die, they told me so. If I carry and birth this child, the Stranger shall be my last kiss.” 

“Then rid yourself of it,” he instructed her and when Elia looked into his eyes, she noted that they were rimmed with red, “You need to live, for your children.. For all of us, for me,” he told her, “You have two children already.” 

“This could be your child,” Elia told him, tears refusing to take their leave. 

“I would rather have you than a child,” the knight replied sincerely, “Every single time; I will always choose you.” 

“It is not so easy, Jaime,” she sighed, “The maester told me that such an endeavour might claim my life and that in the end, it may have been for naught-- killing me before I’ve had the time to bid my goodbyes.” 

“Do not talk like that,” he told her, voice hoarse with emotion, “You are not going to die… You will have this child and you _will_ live, I will not accept any less. Do you hear me?” he walked toward her once more, “Do you hear me?” his voice wavered, “I refuse to lose you when I’ve just now been given the opportunity to love you.”

“I don’t want to die, Jaime,” she cried, taking hold of his hands, intertwining them with hers, “I do not want to,” Elia finished in a whisper.

“I told you; you will not.” But who was he to make such promises?

“Tell me you will never let go,” the Dornishwoman asked of him, “That you will watch over Rhaenys and Aegon, even Viserys and Aemon, should the worst happen. Even this babe, be it yours or Rhaegar’s.” 

“Stop speaking like that,” the knight closed his eyes, as if in pain. 

“Promise me,” she breathed, “Say that you will.” 

“Alright!” he raised his voice, “I will.” 

“We are in quite the mess,” she observed, the sound somewhere between a giggle and a strangled cry, “But I do not regret loving you, Jaime. You mustn’t ever think so.” 

“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging her close to him, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I love you,” Elia murmured, pulling away to gaze at his face-- tenderly stroking his cheek, “I love you.” 

“I know,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her, drowning their misery for the slightest of a second. The kiss was harsh, almost bruising. As if Jaime wanted to keep her there with him, until the world would decay and rot. As if his love could keep them young.

As if it could save her. 

“Have you told the king?” her handsome, white knight asked, once they had broken apart, “Anyone?” 

“No,” Elia breathed, “Only you.” 

“Soon you will have to tell them.”

“I know. I simply do not know how.” 

“You want this child, do you not?” Ser Jaime asked, so hopelessly.

“I do,” she confessed tearfully, “I am only frightened to die giving it life, or that we will be in harm’s way, should it be yours. I would not be able to live with myself, knowing I had cost you your life.” 

“We will run away, to the Free Cities-- Asshai, anywhere, if the worst comes to be and the babe is indeed mine, visibly so. You and I and the children. We could be a family,” Jaime mumbled, eyes closed as if in pain.

“They would hunt us down to the ends of the earth, it would matter not,” she shook her head, “And Aegon is to be king-- Rhaenys his queen. Who am I to rob them of their birthrights because I thought I could have both love and the title of queen? And my worst fear is that they will have your head, Jaime,” Elia whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks-- crowning her with anguish. 

“I am ready to die for you,” he told her solemnly, “I have always been. Always will be.”

“I am so sorry,” she shook her head, “That we never wed, that it took me so long to be with you. That we cannot have much more time.” 

“You will not die,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, breathing hard, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

She loved him too. 

***

After the feast, Elia returned to her chambers, escorted by Ser Arthur. 

“How is the North treating you?” she asked, trying to make something of their silence. 

“Fairly well, Your Grace,” he replied, turning to her with a slight smile, “Though I miss the warmth of the South.” 

“Ah yes, especially the people?” she commented wryly, earning a chuckle. 

“I have been missing the daggers in my back and the fat lords who place them there.” 

“Don’t we all?” Elia replied, smiling despite herself, “King’s Landing really is something else.” 

“Dorne was lovely, though,” the knight nodded, “I truly miss it.” 

“As do we all,” she sighed, “But our choices led us both here.” 

“Yes,” he agreed, “Young and foolish, is that not how the saying goes?”

“Perhaps,” the Dornishwoman agreed, lifting her skirts slightly, so as to climb the steps without tripping, “Sometimes I think dutiful can act as a synonym for foolish.” 

Then, they were by her doors and she turned to him with a slight smile.

“Thank you for your company, Arthur.” She wanted to have it said. He was not a bad man, he simply made a few daft choices and would be paying for them, for as long as he drew breath. She harbored no animosity for the knight in her heart. Only the fondness one has for an old friend who chose another path. Perhaps a pinch or two of a love forgotten, but so did everyone. 

“Of course, Elia,” he replied, frowning-- Violet eyes glimmering with slight confusion.

“Good eve, Arthur,” the Dornishwoman bid him softly, then opened the door to her chambers, stepping inside, just as she heard his deep reply. 

The melancholy resumed its grip on her, once she was safely inside. The Dornish queen had dismissed her handmaidens and therefore unlaced her gown by herself, donning a nightgown of pale ivory and lace. It covered her arms and body, almost like a gown-- so unlike the ones she would wear in Dorne and King’s Landing. Well... the ones in King’s Landing covered more skin than those she donned in Dorne, but what matter did it make? The North was cold and she did not fancy catching another chill, like the one she had in Starfall. Especially now that she was with child.

Once she had dressed in her nightgown and combed out her hair, she moved to stand in front of the mirror-- feeling strangely like an angel of death. Then, with a motion of her hands, she cupped her stomach and smoothed out the fabric, noticing the small but nonetheless visible bump that had begun to form. _How did I never notice it before?_ The little quickening in her belly, unaware of the chaos it would inspire. To be sure, it was not to blame. All it had done was grow on her barren shores and she did want it… simply not like _this. Not shrouded by this tragedy and mystery._

“What a fuss you will make to come into this world,” she sighed, “And it does not even deserve you.” Elia did not even want to imagine Rhaegar’s reaction-- Could not. He needed her, she knew that. And that fact did not originate from a place of vanity or false importance; _I helped him stabilize the realm, he knows that as well as I._ The king also trusted her and once she perished, what would he do? _Will Lyanna step up, will she accept the burden of being the sole queen wholly?_

How would the wolf-queen react to the death of her sister-wife? They had bonded slightly… or more Lyanna had clung onto Elia in lack of anyone else. It was Elia whom the Northerner looked to for guidance in King’s Landing, and though the Dornishwoman was a viper of Dorne, she always offered the truth-- A rare commodity in King’s Landing. _When I pass,_ Jaime would have liked her to say _‘if’_ but she knew it in her heart… Death would be her final stop. _They will gather around her like an infestation of snakes and whisper so prettily in her ear… I will have to spend my time making sure that she understands that she must trust no one but those she has to._

With those thoughts, the Dornish queen turned on her heel and climbed into her bed, wrapping the covers around her. It felt like her mother’s loving embraces. _My mother always knew what to do and when she did not… she pretended that she did, until she did._ The warmth soothed her aching bones and lulled her mind to sleep, slowing that tell-tale beat of her heart, signalling that for the time being; she was alive. 

***

That next day, the Dornishwoman made sure to spend a few hours in the company of her children and Viserys. Aegon’s clingy nature had begun to recede, but he still made sure to always be in her midst, giving her little hugs or wanting to be held. The affection warmed her heart and she was more than glad to indulge his little whims, for he would only be her little boy for so long. King’s Landing would belittle his love and deem it a weakness. How she wished it would not be so, yet it did not change the fact that it was. 

Then, she had tea with Lyanna where they spoke of Prince Aemon’s progress, as well as Elia’s own children and it was quite superficial but pleasant, nonetheless. After that; she took a walk with Lady Catelyn and felt more productive than she had for a long time. 

_“Have you thought of any girl names?” Elia inquired, smiling, “Now that you are so certain it is a girl.”_

_“Well…” the young woman thought for a while and then said, “I thought of Jeyne at first but it is such a common name and I want her to have something of note, to be remembered… Forgive me if that sounds vain, Your Grace but-”_

_“-Not at all,” Elia shook her head, “It is a name they will live and die by. Of course it has importance and it is not wrong to feel as if you want to give them something uncommon that has meaning and value.” So long as it is not exaggerated or too ludicrous. Some parents would do well in naming their child something common, otherwise unwarranted illusions of grandeur may arise, the Dornish queen thought._

_“Hazel,” the Tully shared, smiling beautifully, “Is what I have been considering. Ned thinks Sansa is a beautiful name and though I find myself endeared toward it… the name Hazel speaks to me more. Though Sansa sounds Northern and strong… whereas Hazel is a name fit for girls of summer.”_

_“We are currently in summer,” Elia observed as she gazed into the courtyard, feeling the pleasant rays of the sun upon her face._

_“Winter is coming,” Lady Catelyn shrugged, “Or so my husband says, but I do not know what a name will do to change that.”_

_“Hazel is a pretty name,” Elia said instead, smoothing out her woolen gown of a deep plum, “There was a Hazel of house Harte who wed Daeron Velaryon, once. She birthed the Queen Daenaera Velaryon, who in turn wed Aegon II and mothered their five children.”_

_“You are well-versed in your history,” the lady acknowledged, impressed._

_“It is somewhat of a favorite pastime of mine,” the Dornish queen shared keenly, “Viserys enjoys it as well, so I have a companion in that.”_

_“What happened to Lady Hazel?” The former Tully asked, “If you know.”_

_“I think that she perished quite young…” Elia pondered, “Yes, she did, now I recall; of the Winter Fever. Daeron died when his True Heart went down, leaving the young Daenaera an orphan.”_

_“How terribly sad,” Catelyn frowned and still managed to look beautiful. Elia wondered what it would feel like; to be so irrevocably beautiful._

_“Yes. Most people’s lives are.”_

After supper with Rhaegar, Ned, Lyanna, Catelyn and the children, as well as Maester Aemon; the Dornishwoman had made plans to see the old man and perchance take part in a bit of his wisdom, for she felt especially lacking now. They finished supping rather quickly and Elia managed to finish her vegetable stew, though she did not touch any of the meat. Somehow, the thought of it sickened her. _But I was like this during my other pregnancies as well…_ She still shivered when recalling how Maester Pycelle had sent orders to Dragonstone, for the maester there to force her to consume venison… As well as rare and bloody meat, to help the child grow, which she consecutively refused and told Rhaegar that if he tried to make her eat it, she would castrate him with a dull blade.

“Enter,” the maester’s soft voice beckoned from beyond the wooden door, after she had knocked upon it thrice. Calmly, she opened the door and walked into the dimly-lit rooms, met by the maester seated by a table in the sitting-room, writing something on a piece of parchment. He turned his eyes upon her and seemed shocked for a few moments, before recovering and shaking his head.

“Forgive me, My Queen” he told her, “I am old and my eyes deceive me of late.” 

Maester Aemon’s chambers were simple and the Dornishwoman suspected that he had made a plea for them to be. _I do not think he ever enjoyed all the fuss that was made for him in his youth._ The maester struck her as a simple man, who enjoyed knowledge more than anything materialistic. _He was simply fortunate enough to be born with a good name._

“What did they show you?” she asked as she moved closer, taking a seat opposite him. 

“My grandmother,” he sighed, “Queen Mariah.” _Oh._

“Do I look like her?” she found herself wondering. _He must be the only man alive who remembers what she looked like in Westeros._ The maester assessed her for a few moments before nodding. 

“You do… an awful lot, I must confess… You have her hair and eyes, but most of all; her kind smile. It is almost identical,” the maester replied, seeming lost in his reminiscence. 

“I take that as a compliment,” she smiled, earning a soft smile in return. 

“Of the highest order. My grandmother was a good woman with a gentle, giving heart. Unfortunately; the South was not kind to her and neither was my great-grandfather, King Aegon IV. The loss of my uncle Baelor also struck her hard. So much tragedy involves the Targaryens and I’ve been alive to hear of it all,” he shook his head.

“They had a happy marriage though, I hear,” she tried and the old man nodded.

“Oh, yes. My grandfather came without the biases of the South, in fact; he had faced many of them himself. The whispers of how he was the bastard son of Queen Naerys and Prince Aemon never quieted and lives on, to this day.” 

“You were to tell me of them,” Elia gazed at the man intently, “Your grandfather told you stories.” 

“As eager as Prince Viserys, you are,” the old man chuckled, “I have naught against it, child. To learn is the greatest gift of life, I have never managed to cease yearning for the nectar of knowledge.” 

“Do you truly think they were in love?” 

“I know that my grandfather spoke highly of them both, yet he never believed the tales; for believing them would acknowledge the statements of his illegitimate birth. I think that he wished it though, secretly. He never had the greatest relationship with my great-grandfather and his mother was very dear to his heart.” 

“I think that Queen Naerys was a woman to be admired. She suffered so much but endured.” 

“A well-known trait of many a women in our world. She was not given much, to be sure, yet she persevered. Though I am of the opinion that women should not have to… suffer so much at the behest of men. Yet there she was. Here you are.” His last comment struck the Dornishwoman unawares. 

“Here I am?” she asked,turning her gaze down onto the table, noticing the slight indents in the wood, from goblets and plates and such.

“You know full-well what that means, child,” he began softly, “You, too, have suffered at the hands of your husband and his father. So did my great-niece, Dowager Queen Rhaella.” 

“I am in awe of Queen Rhaella’s strength,” Elia replied with a quiet strength, “She is far stronger than me.” 

“You are strong in different ways,” the old man told her, “One strength does not eradicate the other,” he swallowed and continued, “But what you had to endure, from both your husband and his father… it was nothing short of cruel.” 

“The first lesson to being a woman is; endure,” she sighed. _Endure their infidelity, endure their abuse, endure their illusions and indulgences, endure, endure, endure._

“You may think that I knew,” he told her softly, “That I indulged it. But I knew naught of his plans, of the child he had planned. I corresponded with him, wrote of my theories, which were proven wrong but I never imagined to what extent he would go. Then, I heard of it. The downfall of House Targaryen, the kidnapped girl and scorned wife. The truly mad king.” 

“He failed,” she murmured, “It was all for naught.” _An Aemon, not a Visenya._

“He did, terribly so, yet in some ways he won. In some ways; the realm won, though it was a horrible victory… so many dead,” he shook his head, “All for an ambiguous prophecy.” 

“We all lost at the cost of others. But there is no time for bitterness or anger, only for rebuilding-- To seal the weeping wounds left by his father. Aerys dying was the greatest service he could do to the realm,” she told the old man, shrugging-- weary of the topic. 

“You are a wise woman to say that,” Maester Aemon studied her, “I see so many ghosts of my past in you. Good people. I outlived them all.” 

“It must be hard,” Elia realised, staring into his purple eyes, “To live while all others are gone.” _He must surely miss his siblings, his father and mother._

“It is,” the old man confessed softly, “Some of them were taken cruelly, far too early. I see them sometimes, in my dreams. We are always young in my dreams.” 

“I am so sorry,” was all she could say. It was so terribly sad.

“Do not be, child. It is not your scar to bear. I grow happy when I think of them and on occasion; I recall a memory fifty years past, as if it happened last eve. They live on, for as long as I do and that is a gift, I would say.” 

“You said my daughter reminds you of your sister?” Elia asked and garnered a reminiscent smile from the wizened, old man. 

“A fierce spirit she is, your Rhaenys. My Rhae was the same, much more willful than her older sister, Daella. Her life was not without its trials… and as the youngest; she was often overlooked by all. However, it did not make her pains and struggles any less real.” 

“What happened to her?” the Dornishwoman wondered, in some way feeling bonded to Rhae in their shared struggles of being overlooked. 

“She loved my brother, Aegon,” he sighed, “And how it broke her delicate heart… when he came back from his travels with Ser Duncan and frowned upon the incestuous unions that were so common in our family. He did not love her in the way she loved him and after a childhood of being disregarded, the fact cut her sharper than I suppose any blade would. Yet… she wed a Lannister and went on to have children of her own… Egg grew to be a distant memory, a love forgotten.” _A Lannister? Does that mean Jaime is distant kin to the Targaryens as well?_ She had not known that. 

“And Daella?” the Dornish queen inquired, straightening her back in her seat. 

“Daella… the rising star of the night-sky… A sweet girl, she was kind as well and went on to wed and have children, too. She had our mother’s eyes-- blue stars.” 

“Did you keep in contact with them?” 

“To the best of my abilities,” the old man nodded, “Not as much as I would have liked. Then…” he faltered, swallowing hard, “They died. I dream of them sometimes, singing to their children-- Our songs of old.” The statement made the Dornishwoman teary-eyed. _He went from having such a large family, to being the only oldest one left._

“They sound like good people,” she murmured, reaching out to place a comforting hand atop his wrinkled one. 

“They were. You should have met them,” he smiled sadly, “They would have liked you.” 

“I should hope so,” she smiled and then began compulsively turning the rings upon her fingers, not quite knowing what to say. _He would know what to say, would he not? If I told him I was with child?_ Or perhaps the Dornishwoman overestimated the wisdom of men who had seen almost a hundred years. 

“What is it that is gnawing on you, My Queen?” the old man asked gently, “What is it you came here to say?

“How do you know I came here to say anything?” Elia countered, smiling softly, for otherwise she would weep. 

“The last time someone met with me in this manner, it was my sister Rhae and do you know what she told me?” 

“No,” the Dornishwoman shook her head. 

“She told me that she loved our brother.” 

“Rest assured, I can make no such romantic claim,” Elia jested but the man was still assessing her with his wise eyes.

“Unburden your heart, or don’t,” he told her, “But do not let it eat away at you, for that is when the true decay begins.” 

“I-” she faltered, wondering if Maester Aemon was to be the first person beyond Jaime that she told… But it felt right, somehow. As if he would tell her what she needed to hear. 

Patiently, the old man awaited her words.

“You heard of why my husband took Lyanna as a second wife and fathered a child upon her?”

“A third head of the dragon,” the maester shook his head, “For the prophecy… because he did not want you to perish in the attempt of birthing another child, for you had struggled with it so fiercely the first two times.” 

“Yes,” she acknowledged, feeling the tears brim in her eyes, “Our grand-maester in King’s Landing told me that my womb was too scarred to bear another child… that I was in all sense of the word; barren.” 

“I see,” the old man frowned, seeming to know where she was heading. 

“And therefore…” she faltered.

“The king, in the belief that you could not be harmed and bear more children; began claiming his husbandly right, once more?” 

“He did,” she swallowed, “And it has been so long since he begun to, once more-- I do not know why- now...” she cleared her throat, “It has come to my attention that I am with child once more and it is a sure death sentence.” 

“Oh, child,” the maester frowned, gently caressing her hand on the table.

“I am sorry,” she murmured, trying to wipe her tears away, “For this impropriety,” the Dornish queen explained, “I simply do not know what to do, or how to tell anyone. This is what he _left_ me for and now I am to die giving it to him, after another woman already did it.” 

“Calm yourself now,” the maester soothed.

“I-uhm,” she swallowed, “I just do not want to die, you know?” 

“Oh, dear one, I know,” Maester Aemon told her, “So you have not told anyone?”

“No,” she shook her head despairingly, “I do not know how. I saw how he reacted when his mother was on her deathbed, how will he react to mine?” she asked, “And we were just getting started rebuilding the realm, making it prosper. I was beginning to feel alive, once more and now I am to die… How is that fair?” 

“You should not jump to conclusions, My Queen,” the maester told her, “My great-grandmother, the Queen Naerys was a woman of delicate health as well, told she could bear no more children than her first and live… yet she did. She bore and she lived, even if most of them did not.” 

“But she died in childbed,” Elia replied, despairing, “In that wretched bed of blood.” 

“After she was well into her child-bearing years,” he replied, “You are young, not even close to thirty years of age. Do not enter this resigning yourself to such a dismal fate. You are young, sweet child. There are progressions in the arts of healing that rival those of old-- New sustenance being invented, to nourish both mother and child. But you cannot carry this alone, inside of yourself. You must tell, or have the secret eat away at you from within.” 

“I do not know how,” she replied, her voice cracking. 

“You must find that out, then. You are a queen, you cannot let this break you. Do not let it. Prove all the maesters wrong, for how can they know for sure? Knowledge does not remain static, it grows, is forever in motion. What was true three years ago, is most like not true today. Do not resign yourself to a fate that has not yet come to pass and may not.” His words soothed her in a way… _I should not tell myself I’ll die, for then I will weaken my spirit._

“Alright,” she snivelled, nodding, “You are right, I should not be so unfavorable in my thinking…”

“No, the largest mistake a man can make is to think they are weaker than they are. It eats away at the mind like maggots. Do not let the words of those who know you not decide what you’ll be. You are a queen and you will persevere.” 

She hoped that she would. 

She was not finished with life yet. 

Not nearly. 

After having returned from Maester Aemon’s, Elia entered her chambers, only to find Rhaegar fast asleep in her bed. The sight stirred something in her, a melancholy remembrance from their happier days on Dragonstone, when neither of them had come to wear the crown. He looked so young, once more… and he still was. They both were. Half of the canopy remained open, so she saw the slightly tanned skin of his chest, left bare by the drape of the duvet. He burned hotter than regular men and even though he did not enjoy the cold; could endure it to great extent. 

Quietly, the Dornishwoman padded over to her chest of nightgowns and begun to unlace her woolen gown, which was quite easy as the design was quite simple, though it was richly embroidered with gems, alternating from sapphires and stones of onyx. When she was left in her smallclothes, she quickly donned the nightgown of the previous eve, combed out her hair and moved toward the empty slot of her large, wooden bed-- quietly slipping in beside her husband, who did not even stir. Rhaegar was warm and for a few moments, the Dornishwoman simply stared at him, not knowing the reason why. 

_I will tell him tomorrow,_ she promised herself. 

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow. 

***

As it turned out, Rhaegar was already gone when she woke, which told her that she had overslept again. _I used to always wake before him._ Now that she was with child again; she slept longer and more deeply-- Perhaps because her body needed more time to recover from the taxing activities of her days. 

However, Elia barely had the time to rise before an urgent knock from a servant came. _What now?_ She wondered, slightly fearing that perhaps Maester Aemon had let her news slip and that would make her seem secretive… which she was but she did not need that label, not now. _He is an old man, their wits wander on the occasion and they may accidentally relay matters they should not._ But he had seemed to be blessed with great clarity for his age… was it truly him?

“M’queen, forgive the interruption but the king has summoned you to his solar and ‘tis a matter of great urgency.” 

“Alright,” Elia called from beyond the wooden door, “Will you call in the handmaidens to help me dress?” 

“Of course, m’queen,” the servant mumbled and soon enough, other knocks begged entrance and they dressed her rather quickly. Thankfully; her undershift hid the delicate bump on her belly from the view of gossiping handmaidens. 

Once finished, Elia was bustling with nerves. It was not common for Rhaegar to summon her so urgently, which made both fear and curiosity rattle her bones. 

“Do you know what it is about?” she asked Ser Arthur, who was to be her escort, as they walked through the hall. 

“No,” he shook his head and seemed to be on edge as well, “All I know is that a letter reached him this morning, from King’s Landing and he summoned Ser Jaime instantly.” _What?_ Dread crept its way and covered her heart _. Is it the spider? What does he know? What do they know?_

“Gods,” she murmured, feeling short of breath.

When they were finally outside the solar, she knocked thrice upon the carved door and exchanged an uneasy glance with Ser Arthur, then the door opened and it was Rhaegar… yet he looked tired and slightly disheveled. With a silent motion, he beckoned her inside, but remained by the door to exchange a few quiet words with Ser Arthur. On her way to the seat herself by the table, she passed Ser Jaime who was on his way out. 

“I had no idea,” he told her quietly, seeming distressed, emerald eyes dulled, “Please, you must believe me,” the knight finished and was gone before she could utter a single word in reply. _Had no idea? What does he mean?_ The situation was confuzzling her all-the-more as it progressed. Then, after a few moments; Rhaegar arrived, Lyanna in tow behind him. 

“Take a seat,” he told the wolf-girl, who looked equally as puzzled as Elia imagined she did, herself. 

“What is this about, Rhaegar?” Elia asked him and despised the way her last word seemed to crack, therefore; she cleared her throat and eyed him expectantly. 

“I received a letter from my mother this morn,” he sighed and loosened the collar of his doublet, running a hand through his disheveled hair, “Grand-Maester Pycelle has been imprisoned for treason and conspiracy.” _Well… good, they finally got that cunt for something._ She always had a terrible feeling regarding the inept, nasty, old man and he never truly seemed to be on the side of the royal family. _Always whispering in King Aerys’s ear like a slithering snake._

What did he do?” Lyanna asked, beating the Dornishwoman to it, “Besides the obvious incompetence for everything…” Elia smiled a little at the statement. _Has she had to endure his fumbling examinations too?_ Rhaegar looked stricken and almost like a young prince, not the king of Westeros. _The crown shows its weight…_

“He conspired with Lord Tywin Lannister to,” her husband faltered, swallowing hard, “To have Aegon and Rhaenys slain, should Robert Baratheon be victorious on the Trident… and you,” he looked at the Dornishwoman and there was something in his eyes… Was it tears? Her own ones blurred her vision, “Secret correspondence was found. Lord Tywin stated that whatever happened to you, happened.” 

Elia could not speak, could scarcely breathe. First the child and now this? Of course it had been a long time since Rhaegar won and Lord Robert died but… to have her children killed? Of course she was aware that it was strategic… to get rid of any potential heirs but to have the conspiracy so blatantly amongst them. But it was her sweet children, whose lives they wished to suffocate like a burning candle. Gentle Aegon who barely fussed--the spirited Rhaenys. It was Pycelle who told her that she could have no more children… _Was that his ploy?_ Elia wondered, _to have me die in childbirth? Did Lord Tywin wish to have Lord Stannis murdered as well? So that Lady Cersei could take my place?_ The theory seemed far-fetched but she had met Lord Lannister… she knew that he had it in him. _A Lannister always pays his debts._

The tears burned behind her eyes but she refused to let them fall-- To let Tywin Lannister win. Tywin… father of Jaime… the possible paternal grandfather of her child. _That was what Jaime meant,_ Elia realised, _that he did not know of this_ . One would have called her blinded by love but she believed him. _He loves Rhaenys, why would he stand by as his father ordered the murder of her? Aegon, too._ It did not make sense. From what Jaime had told her of his childhood… Lord Tywin had not been the warmest or most attentive of fathers. To the contrary; her white knight seemed to… not dislike his father but not be particularly inclined toward him. _It always puts him in a strange mood when Lord Tywin is the topic of discussion._

“Gods,” Lyanna whispered and when Elia looked upon the Northerner, she noted that the girl looked horrified and pale. _At least there is that, at least she is fond enough of them to be repelled._

“What now?” Elia asked Rhaegar, trying to remain level-headed, even though her voice cracked and she wished to weep, as she imagined her children; dead and bloodied and bruised. All for the throne, the old lords would say. All for the throne. All for the throne. All for the throne. _Cursed be the damned iron throne,_ she wanted to yell. _Curse it!_

“We will return to King’s Landing ahead of schedule. My mother wrote that the warrant for Lord Tywin’s arrest and order to appear before the throne has been sent out. He will claim innocence, to be sure. I do not think he knows of the substantial evidence that there is against him; arrogant lords like that only think that someone tattled; in this case: Pycelle. And that it can be easily remedied with the correct bribes.”

“When do we leave?” Lyanna asked and if the Northerner was terribly sad over leaving, she hid it well. _Perhaps the North is not what it used to be. Maybe she wanted what it was; not this. Ghosts haunt all of us and many of them roam these halls. Her father. Her mother. Her brother. Most; dead because of her._

“In the morn,” he sighed wearily, “We must return in time for a trial to be held and for them to be convicted in front of the entire court.” 

“Will they face the headsman’s axe?” Elia asked, her voice foreign to even her own ears. It was cold, so terribly cold. 

“Hopefully,” Rhaegar returned her gaze, “Most likely. The evidence is substantial, as I said. We need only prove its legitimacy and I suspect that after a few tickles from the torturer and a few weeks in the black cells; that one way or another; they will speak. At least Pycelle.” 

“I never liked him,” Lyanna shook her head, “He unnerved me.” 

“Lord Tywin Lannister will unnerve you more,” Elia told Lyanna cooly, suddenly thinking of Jaime, “And what of Ser Jaime? Surely you cannot think he had any part in this? He saved us when you were away. Your father planned to burn us all alive.” 

“I spoke at great lengths with Ser Jaime,” Rhaegar looked at her, those steely undertones to his words, proving he was a king, “And he does not seem to have been aware of this, no. But there may be need for a testimony against his father and if he refuses… Then I shall have no option but to grow suspicious. My father’s death would have benefitted Lord Tywin greatly and old wounds never quite seem to close. There was great animosity betwixt them.” 

“Your father’s death benefitted the entire realm,” Elia retorted, “Do not act as if it did not. Your father was mad and the greatest service he did any of us; was to submit to Ser Jaime’s blade. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it.” 

“You trust too easily, Elia,” Rhaegar sighed, “King’s Landing is a pit of conspiring snakes and even if I do believe the best of Ser Jaime; I am prepared to expect the worst.” 

“No, I am a good judge of character. Do not act all high and mighty,” she shook her head, “You _left_ us there.” 

“Do you not think I know that?” he raised his voice, startling both her and Lyanna, “Do you not think I hate myself for it? I will never forget it, Elia-- Nor do I need constant reminders. Looking upon you and our children is enough! The proof of it is everywhere I go, in all of your eyes. I know that I can never atone for it but I can try to make amends. I can love you all in the way you deserve; you must only let me.” When she looked into his eyes, they were like waves of a violent indigo ocean, crashing upon the shore in frequent blasts. How was she to tell him now? After this? That she was with child and could die. _Just say it. Just say it and be done with it. No good will come from any more stalling. Say it!_

“Pycelle schemed on one more account,” she whispered, turning her gaze downward, hands absentmindedly travelling to her belly that was raging with invisible butterflies. 

“What?” Rhaegar asked and when she met his eyes, he was frowning slightly. Lyanna seemed on edge by the statement, as well. 

“He told me I could bear no more children.” Her voice was not her own, it was small and weak, covered in dread. 

“You can’t,” Rhaegar replied, as if it was the most obvious statement in the world. As if it was written in the moon, sky and stars. It was not. 

“You are-” Lyanna began, realisation dawning upon her.

“-With child,” Elia whispered, meeting the king’s eyes with a tearful brown. At that; he paled beneath his warmer complexion, the one Dorne had gifted him with. 

“You _cannot_ be,” the king denied it again, “You can’t,” he whispered, “Aegon almost killed you.” _And this one might cause an end to all of me. And it may not even be yours._ That frightened her more than death, she thought. 

“I am,” she eyed him and felt her lip tremble. Elia was scared, so very scared over the unsure future. Sad regarding her predicament, vengeful over the rotten, old men who wanted to take the life of her children away. _Politics…_ the word tasted rotten upon her tongue. There was no humanity in politics. A ruthless game, by all account and they were drowning in it. _She_ was drowning in it. 

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head as if in pain, as if telling himself it was naught but a horrid dream. She could not imagine how he felt. This was what he started a war for. _The third head of the dragon that I was incapable to bear._ Now, perhaps she _was_ carrying it. 

“Maester Luwin confirmed it… That is why I have been so ill of late. Not another chill… another babe.” 

“Fuck,” he cursed, “No,” the king finished more brokenly-- His mind looked to make no sense of it, “How long?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, biting her lip.

“How long have you known and _not_ told me?” He appeared almost hurt by the fact that she kept it from him. _I could barely comprehend it myself, I could not come and tell you._

“A few days,” she murmured, “I found out the day you forced me to visit Maester Luwin.” Rhaegar assessed her for a few quiet moments, Lyanna seemed to feel slightly uncomfortable in their midst, as if she had no true place in the conversation… _well, she does not._

“Lyanna,” Rhaegar sighed, “Would you mind leaving us to speak alone? We must-” he faltered, waving his hand around slightly, “-Figure out what in the Gods’ names we are to do now.” 

“Yes,” the Northerner nodded several times, “Yes,” she whispered once more, eyeing Elia before she began moving away, only to walk toward the Dornishwoman, putting a hand on Elia’s shoulder, “I am sorry.” The Dornishwoman nodded and wagered it was not only the pregnancy that Lyanna was apologetic regarding. 

Once the door to the solar had shut and Lyanna was gone, Rhaegar turned to her, pale as a ghost. 

“Barren, you were _supposed_ to be barren.” 

“I thought so too,” she shook her head, voice cracking, “Pycelle told me so but now… I think perhaps I should have asked young Gerardys to examine me as well.” 

“I would not have,” he sucked in a sharp breath, as if there was not enough air in the room, “I would not have bedded you if getting you with child was a risk.” _Jaime might have and here we would have been, nonetheless._

“I know,” she whispered, “I know.” Suddenly, the king’s arms were around her, large-- Holding her in place, almost afraid of letting her go. _He knows what this means; what it entails._

“I have sentenced you to death,” he whispered and she could feel him shake. That strange feeling blossomed within her, once more… it was akin to guilt. For not knowing whether he was the father or not. For knowing that she may be carrying the man whose father wished to kill their children’s bastard. It was not right, Elia knew it. _Rhaegar did this to me with Aemon; why do I feel guilty?_ She suspected it was because Rhaegar loved her in the way she loved Jaime. In the fiercest way he knew how to love. 

“I might live,” she tried to soothe, “There are progressions, Ma- I’ve been told,” she finished dismally, thinking it better not to mention that she had told his great-great uncle, before she’d notified him. 

“I cannot lose you,” he whispered, “Not now, not ever. There must be some other way; a moon’s tea or something of the sort.” Elia thought of what Maester Luwin had told her. 

“There are herbs, yes,” the Dornishwoman whispered, “Bu-”

“-Take them,” the king told her, his words almost a sorrowful command, tightening his grip, “You should. We have enough children. Aegon and Rhaenys need a mother, they cannot be left with a corpse. I need you,” he uttered, lips against her ear.” It was almost romantic, almost poetic but the reality was horrifying. No pretty words would undo their struggles. 

“Maester Luwin told me that,” she swallowed, “Sometimes the woman is too far along. He suspected I was anywhere betwixt one or three moons. He warned me that the risk of me dying as I consumed the moon tea or herbs would be as great as me dying during childbed. Too great.”

“No,” her husband whispered, he was shaking even more, she felt it… or perhaps it was her own shaking. 

He held her until their shaking ceased, and long after. 

“What do we do?” He asked her, almost like a child would inquire of an adult. _Oh, Rhaegar. You must needs learn how to do without me, she wished to chide. Sometimes I do not have all the answers. You will have to find them, yourself._

“I will have to have this child,” Elia let out a shaky breath, “And I will simply have to live. Won’t I?” Her husband pulled away to gaze at her with an indigo ocean of sorrow, nodding. 

“You will,” he replied as strongly as he could, “You simply will. There is no other way.” 

Thoughts simmered within her. 

Dragon,

Lion, 

Dragon, 

Lion, 

Dragon, 

Lion? 

***

“Where are we going?” Jaime asked, after she had forced him out, to serve as an “escort” for her late-afternoon walk into the lonesome Godswood. Elia had even been clever and notified Rhaegar of it, under the guise of wanting to make sure Jaime had not left anything unsaid. The king had thought it a splendid idea and commended her on her wit. She had almost felt bad for lying to him, but she wanted to be alone with Jaime. Where none would see, where they could be whatever they were _meant_ to be. 

“To the center,” she replied, “We can sit down there and it is deep enough inside, that it will cover us from anyone’s view. 

“Clever,” he murmured, running a hand through his golden curls, to smooth them out. They shone like burnished gold in the light of the sun and his lips were a beautiful scarlet of a red. 

Once they had reached the center, Jaime let out a gasp of awe. 

“It is-” 

“-Beautiful?” she asked, “I told you so. It is something straight out of the fairytales we were told as young children.” 

“I was not told many of those,” he replied and it saddened her heart. 

“Come here,” the Dornishwoman outstretched her hand and he took it, entwining his warm fingers with her cold ones. She continued moving until they were right behind the pale weirwood tree, surrounded by its red leaves, “Sit down.” Noticing that it would be quite uncomfortable for him to sit down with that breastplate, she helped the knight rid himself of it, “There we go,” the Dornishwoman smiled. 

“What?” Jaime asked after he had noticed her staring. Perhaps it was rude to do so, but she wanted to remember him, to know the line of that jaw, the curve of the bow of his lips, the emerald in his eyes-- the fondness shining through them. Elia never wanted to forget it, never wanted to leave. 

“Nothing,” she shook her head, “You are beautiful.” 

“Said the raven when he called the crow black,” the knight smirked, but the tension of the morning did not seem to have left him. 

“Are you calling yourself handsome?” the Dornish queen deadpanned, earning a slight smirk from the golden knight. 

“I called you beautiful,” he winked.

“Could you be any more up your own arse?” she chuckled, feeling part of the heavy weight resting on her chest lift. 

“I could be up yours,” he offered, winking as she opened her mouth and her eyes widened in shock. The knight then proceeded to laugh so hard that he snorted, “You should have seen your face!” 

“How- Improper,” she began, swatting him with each word, as she could barely contain her own laughter, “Of- you- to dare suggest,” Elia could not hold her laughter in, “That to a queen! Outrageous!”

“You love it,” he gripped her hands gently, leaning in to place a soft kiss upon her smiling lips. 

“I do,” she confessed, feeling the sadness dawn upon her like a wave, as she thought of how she may not have many more of those moments with Jaime. Where they simply forgot the world surrounding them. _Soon; the world may forget me._

“Did I do anything to cause offence?” the knight frowned handsomely as he noticed the change in her features. 

“No,” she shook her head, voice slightly tearful, “I love you. Always know that. Please.” 

“Don’t,” he shook his head, stroking her cheek, “Do not go there.” 

“We return tomorrow,” Elia told him instead, “To face a trial. I do not think we will be able to meet privately. If we do; it will have to be done in the utmost secrecy and for the shortest of moments. And nothing remains a secret for long in the Red Keep.” 

“You believe me, do you not?” he asked her unsurely, staring into her eyes, “I love you, I love Rhaenys and Aegon-- I would never have allowed it if I kne-” 

“-Would I be here in your arms, if I did not believe you had absolutely nothing to do with it?” Elia inquired, “I am much aware that you are not your father, Jaime. Even so; his sins are not yours to bear.” 

“That does make sense,” he replied, looking down sheepishly at her matter-of-fact statement. The Dornishwoman gently took hold of his chin, gazing into his eyes with a softness. 

“My sweet, stupid Lannister.” 

“Yours,” he concurred, leaning in to kiss her softly. They remained that way for a few moments, until Elia rose but Jaime chose to remain seated instead. Curiously, she silently observed him. 

Tenderly, he leaned in to place his arms around her hips, placing his head on the slight swell of her belly-- Remaining silent as the Dornishwoman watched, stroking his golden curls with her slender fingers-- Eyes brimming with tears. _In another life, in another world, we would have been, my love. We would have been and we would have loved._ Then, the knight withdrew to place a kiss upon the bump, whispering, “Mine or not, I will always protect you.” Then, he stood up, drawing Elia close to his chest, kissing the top of her head. 

“We will be alright,” he told her, “You shall see. You will be alright.” 

The snap of a few twigs made them break apart quickly, causing her heart to race as she turned around to the source of it. 

“Viserys?” she asked as she saw the prince standing a few paces away from them, staring intently. _Fuck,_ she wanted to exclaim. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,_ “What are you doing here, sweetling?” 

“I came to look for you,” the prince confessed, still eyeing them both with slight confusion, Jaime looked choked for words, “I saw you and Ser Jaime walking here. I wanted to ask if you would join me in the libraries.” 

“Oh,” she mumbled, brushing off a bit of dirt from her skirts, walking toward him gently. 

“What were you and Ser Jaime doing?” The prince asked her, with the confusion that only a boy of nine could have. If she had learned one thing in King’s Landing; it was not to give away more than the person knew. 

“What did it look like?” she asked him, as if she was genuinely wondering. In truth; she simply wanted to know the extent of what he had seen. 

“Ser Jaime was hugging you the way my brother does, on occasion,” the young boy frowned, “Why was he doing that?” 

“Ser Jaime, he-” she faltered, “-He was giving me comfort. Like you do for Rhaenys, when she is sad,” Elia tried to explain. 

“Oh,” the prince murmured, nodding, then he turned to her with large, kind, lilac eyes, “Why are you sad, Elia? I thought you were happy now.” 

“I am,” she tried to smile, stroking his cheek. _It is important not to belittle him or speak to him as if he is an inept infant._ Viserys was a clever, young boy and she would treat him as such, “It is just... something came to my attention and it simply overwhelmed me.” 

“What?” he asked her and she decided to be truthful. 

“I am with your brother’s third child,” she made sure to say, for the boy not to make any conclusions of his own, based on ambiguous words. 

“I thought you could not have more children?” Viserys asked, frowning.

“I thought so too,” she smiled at him, “Which was why I was overwhelmed by the discovery and Ser Jaime offered me comfort, so valiantly. As a knight should a woman in distress.” 

“Oh, I understand now,” the boy nodded, “But will not another child harm you?” he then paled, “Like Aegon hurt you… Like Dany hurt mother?” 

“I will not lie, Viserys,” she told him honestly, reaching to take hold of his little hand, “It may.” 

“I do not want it to,” he replied, lilac eyes beginning to brim with tears and it tore at her heart, how much this boy genuinely cared. How hard it would be to leave him, “I want you to be happy and healthy, Elia,” he pleaded, squeezing her hand, “And I want you to stay. You have to.” 

“I will try to, my love. For you and your brother and all of the children.” 

“You must,” the prince told her. 

“Viserys,” she began instead, “You know what you saw?” 

“What?” he asked, voice wavering. 

“Ser Jaime offering me comfort? Like a true knight should?” 

“Yes,” he frowned, “What about it?” Ser Jaime stood behind her, a silent shadow-- analyzing the scene in front of him.

“You mustn’t tell anyone about it. Do you know why?” 

“No,” he shook his head, silver-gold curls dangling about his shoulders beautifully, “Why?” 

“For the people around us are not like you and I or Ser Jaime. They will not understand; they will make their own conclusions and that can be very dangerous. Their whispers could hurt us greatly. Which is why you must speak no word of it, otherwise we may be harmed.” 

“I understand,” the young Viserys nodded solemnly, looking far too wise for his own years, “It is just like when mother was writing a letter and told me I could not tell father or anyone else because then they would hurt her.” That piece of information was new to Elia, but she chose not to dwell on it. _It was years past, anyway and most like to Maester Aemon or someone of the sort._ Then, the boy realised what he had said and his eyes widened, “I should not have said that, should I?” 

“No, Viserys,” she shook her head, “But it is alright, we will not tell anyone, will we, Ser Jaime?” she turned her head, gazing at the beautiful knight expectantly. 

“Not a living soul, My Prince,” he nodded toward the young boy. 

“But you must not make this same mistake with what happened today, alright?” she asked, stroking his cheek with the hand that was not holding his. 

“Yes. I swear it, Elia,” he replied, leaning in to hug her, “I love you. I do not want you harmed, nor Ser Jaime. He is kind and spars with me.” That caused her to smile. 

“I love you too, sweetling.” 

* * *

The next day; their journey back to King’s Landing began.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, babies. There's so much more drama to come :)  
> (not edited)  
> also there's a chapter of Rhae Targaryen that kind of goes into what grandpa Aemon talks about, in my other fic called 'Their songs of fire and blood. (chapter 19) check that out if u wanna :)


	25. High hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back with a (long overdue) chapter and I apologize for the delay but... things were so busy at school, second year's a bitch but at least that's going to be over-with soon. I can't believe I'll be a senior this fall. It's wild. 
> 
> It's also been difficult to find my groove again, sometimes I've felt so unmotivated to write but now I've gotten back into the groove of things and updates will probs be more frequent. 
> 
> I hope this chapter finds you well, considering everything that's going on in the world. I just want to take a few moments to discuss (what you may already know) but the gruesome killing of George Floyd. Seeing that video... It brought me to tears and once more; unveiled the systemic racism & prejudice that plagues the american (justice) system. It's not the first video that's come to light, or the first filming of police brutality but it shook the world into action... and the orange baby to his bunker. 
> 
> I watch with horror what is happening in the world, but the peaceful protests were beautiful, how the world came together to fight this injustice was beautiful... before the undercover cops, looters & instigators that tried to ruin the cause. With more and more videos of police brutality emerging from these peaceful protests... it demands something be done. It is far too easy to become a cop in the states and they wield too much power. An arrest should never be a murder. 
> 
> I've read the last words of so many innocent african-americans and honestly it brings me to fits of tears... how the world can be so unjust, so terrible... We must say their names, acknowledge the injustice & join together to bring justice. No boy should have to die too young, no traffic ticket should become a death sentence. Cops should not get away with murdering innocent people. No parent should have to educate their child on how to not get murdered when the police stops them. No one should have to live in that fear... sadly that's the reality for many african-americans.
> 
> It's 2020 and public lynchings are happening. Ahmaud Arbery went for a jog and was hunted down & killed by three white men. George Floyd went to the store and someone called the police on him for suspected forgery. He paid with his life for that accusation. He was not resisting, there were three other cops around. Tamir Rice played with a fake gun at the age of 12 & was shot instantly. Tamir would have been 17 today. My age. He would have been in high-school & tried to figure out what to do with his life. That cop never gave him the chance to. 
> 
> Alton Sterling sold Cd:s, which was his 2nd amendment right. Cops tasered him, pushed him against the hood of a car and shot him 6 times. Then 17-year old Trayvon Martin was killed for looking suspicious. He died holding skittles and the cop was acquitted. The cop, GEORGE ZIMMERMAN is now suing Trayvon's family for $100 million, reports even say he signs skittles packets. He also auctioned off the gun that took Trayvon's life. Trayvon's last words were "What are you following me for?" 
> 
> I find it difficult to articulate myself, because I don't know enough about the subject or will ever understand what it's like, but I'm trying to further educate myself. This is such a confusing, horrific time but it is important to keep fighting for this. We can't let it slip through the cracks as soon as it's not viral anymore.  
> To my African-american readers (if I have any): The world is with you. The world is seeing the injustice you must suffer and we stand with you. I am so sorry that your own country treats you this way. Change is coming, you are loved and you are cherished. Black Lives Matter and we will fight for you. The entire world bleeds and rages for you, together we will fight this. I love you. 
> 
> I know that I will never understand, but I stand. 
> 
> Please do what you can to support this movement. contribute to black-owned businesses, spread awareness, donate. No action is too small-- but inaction is an action and it sides with the oppressor. We cannot turn a blind eye to what is happening, how people are dying, just because it does not affect us personally. It is no longer enough to not be racist. We must be anti-racist, to abolish it in every form and do our best to create a better world. There are no races, simply different ethnic origins. Race is a social construct created to divide. We must unite together. 
> 
> Here are some links to donate:  
> https://www.gq.com/gallery/ways-to-support-black-lives-matter  
> https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/black-lives-matter-protest-support-george-floyd-donate-petition-a9542576.html 
> 
> Learn their names and cause of death:  
> https://mychemicalkilljoys.tumblr.com/post/619644445127835648/this-has-been-getting-a-lot-of-notes-but-if-you
> 
> Educate yourself:  
> https://blacklivesmatter.com/
> 
> No justice. No peace.

They had been returned to King’s Landing for a week’s turn now and there was an odd tension amongst the inhabitants of the Red Keep… a certain foreboding of doom. Perhaps it was the looming trial, with one of the richest lords in the kingdom.  _ Tywin Lannister… father of Jaime. _ It was an odd feeling; to soon witness the trial of the man who wished to rob her children of life, when mayhaps he was the grandfather of the child quickening in her womb. 

The thought almost made a morbid laughter escape her lips.  _ What an odd sense of humor the Gods have when it comes to my life. _ The Dornish queen wondered what Lord Tywin would have to say of that… would he still want her discarded like a piece of dust? Perhaps he would be angry… that the golden lion Jaime would deign himself to bed a Dornish viper-wench and get her with child. Well… it mattered not, for he would never come to know, anyway. 

Tywin Lannister was on the move to King’s Landing. The old Lord had thought himself so innocent that there was no need to make a rushed escape. That, and Dowager Queen Rhaella had already sent a host of soldiers to fetch him, so that they would be in Lannisport when the Lord received his summons.  _ That was clever of Rhaella, _ Elia had to admit. From what she had heard; Cersei Lannister was on her way as well, alongside her husband. The former Lannister had already given birth to the Baratheon Lord’s child… a daughter named Shireen; blue of eye and black of hair, but the babe was too young to travel and therefore remained behind in Storm’s End.  _ A daughter, not a son. _

Renly was still the heir, for the time being.  _ He is to wed Lady Laena and move to Driftmark, which ensures Targaryen loyalty. _ What were they to do with the daughter?  _ Perhaps have her be made a ward, alongside Lord Stark’s second-born… _ She would need to discuss it with the king. Matters had complicated themselves further, now that Lord Tywin would be the grandfather of that child.  _ Poor girl; born of two families with a bloody, treasonous history.  _ However, that was not the babe’s fault and Elia was well aware of that. 

The trial itself would be held a fortnight from here, in front of a large audience. The notion seemed to gnaw on the Dornishwoman, leaving her in a perpetual state of slight anxiety. What was to happen? What amount of evidence was there? Rhaegar had told her there was a substantial amount; Pycelle’s forgotten letters, even the old fool’s mumblings but was it enough? Or would it simply be deemed heresy against House Lannister? Would Pycelle be used purely as a scapegoat and Tywin walk free?  _ No, of course not… surely not? _ She would must-needs ask Rhaegar of the details, later when they would meet for a small supper and engaged in discussions over Lady Cersei’s new babe and other tedious matters that needed tending to. 

“Your grace?” A soft voice inquired, “Are you well?” Elia blinked for a few moments and realised that she’d not been paying any mind as to what poor Lady Cella had been speaking of. 

“Forgive me,” the Dornishwoman replied, smiling apologetically, “I must have lost myself in my thoughts.” The Celtigar woman nodded understandingly, taking a sip of her tea. 

“I was asking,” the honey-haired lady began, “If it is not wondrous that we shall be having babes so close in age? Laena is already besotted with the Princess Rhaenys; I am sure these ones will be fast friends, too.”  _ Oh, Lady Cella. _ Did she not know? Or perhaps she simply wished to treat Elia’s pregnancy as any other-- without the taint of death upon it. 

“I am certain,” Elia agreed pleasantly, eyeing the bump on the former Celtigar’s belly. Lady Cella had received news that she was with child when they were in Dorne and had written to tell the Dornishwoman of it. However, Elia had been far too preoccupied with her mummer’s farce of a life, that the fact had slipped her mind. 

It had not surprised her that the Lady Velaryon was with child, once more. Lord Monford was handsome, as well as attentive upon his wife and they seemed to love each other in a way that… most lords and ladies in King’s Landing simply did not. She was also a beauty, Lady Cella, and pure-- the sun seemed to be brought to life through her, so fierce was her kind and good-willed nature. 

“What will you name it?” Elia asked kindly, or perhaps Lord Monford would. Not many women were given the right to name their own children; ‘Twas the man who had the last say. 

“Well…” the Lady pondered, furrowing her brows, “My Lord-husband has informed me that it is my time to choose; as he chose Laena for our daughter, but I do not know. Of course it must needs be Velaryon… but what?” 

“There are many Velaryons of note,” the Dornish Queen murmured, nibbling on her pastry, “Corlys is a fierce name, so is Daemon. Then there’s Daenaera and Alyssa. I am sure you can find a volume on the lineage of the Velaryons somewhere and that could prove to be of great service. It is a difficult thing, indeed, the act of naming a child.” 

“Perhaps it will come out and tell us its name,” Lady Cella laughed melodiously, the corners of her eyes crinkling upward, “Some babes name themselves, they truly do.” 

“I cannot dispute that claim,” Elia shook her head, smiling, for it was true. 

They continued their tea-session for a little while longer, until Elia rose apologetically, telling the woman that she was feeling fatigued and would take to her bed, lest the king grow irate. Rhaegar had been feverish in his research on how to make her pregnancy a safe one, to ensure that she leaves the birthing bed with her life still intact. That also entailed that he would fuss over her like a mother-hen at the slightest of matters. If she so much as yawned or sighed wearily, he would tell her to rest.  _ Rest, rest, rest, that is all they can say.  _ Then, he’d learned of how tender and rare meat could help her condition, but Elia plainly refused to eat the bloody venison that was served to her on one particular eve. It had caused Rhaegar to grow quite wroth but she had boundaries and there were no substantial records that spoke of the magical healing powers bloody venison contained.

Lady Cella, gracious and understanding as she was, simply smiled and nodded, leaving Elia with a gentle kiss goodbye and a soft look in those pale eyes. Once the Lady was gone, the Dornish queen dismissed her remaining ladies and servants, wishing to be alone instead. It was something she had grown to enjoy, or perhaps she always had. There was great comfort to be found in silence, one simply needed to learn  _ not  _ to fear it. The sky was the color of a comforting blue and the sun was shining spectacularly through the clouds. What a beautiful day it was, filled to the brim with the loveliness of life. 

Suddenly, she felt a slight flutter of movement within her and it caused a smile to begin forming upon the Dornishwoman’s lips. 

“Good day to you, too,” Elia smiled, her hand reaching out to stroke the slight swell of her belly, almost out of reflex, “You slept long, this day.” Rhaenys and Aegon had been larger at that point of their development, but she would not worry, she would not.  _ It might simply just be smaller. _ Her mother had told her once that no one had even guessed she had been with child, for the growing Elia had not begun showing herself, until at the sixth-moon mark.

The little quickening had recently begun to move and it had caused Elia an immense amount of joy, to know that it was _ there. _ To know that it  _ lived. _ To know that it  _ would. _ She had been plagued with uncertainty for so many moons.  _ Child of Rhaegar? Child of Jaime? Our futures?  _ It felt refreshing to  _ finally  _ be  _ certain  _ of something and the Dornish Queen was certain that her child was alive, and they were safe. It would have to be enough for now. 

With that, she stretched her back and straightened her posture, moving toward her bed-chamber. She had already told the servants to wake her in time for supper, before dismissing them. Not caring that she was still dressed in her silk-gown, Elia moved atop the red covers, settling on her side, with one hand absentmindedly stroking the slight swell of her belly. Thinking of how much her heart bled with love, in regards to the babe and her family; Elia Martell fell asleep, feeling slightly choked with what was to be. 

***

“How are you feeling?” Rhaegar asked, his head devoid of the crown. She had spotted Ser Jaime outside the King’s chambers, standing guard. He’d greeted her with a smile that cut like a knife and Elia had hoped that her eyes conveyed the love her mouth could not. 

“Well enough,” she nodded, sitting down by the table where a small meal of supper had been prepared for them. Beef stew and vegetable pie, accompanied by pieces of summer fruits for dessert. 

“I am pleased,” Rhaegar nodded, eyeing her softly with those somber, indigo eyes. 

“Good,” she snorted, brushing the loose, brown curls behind her ears, “It proves difficult to please my king these days, so I shall accept credit where credit is due.” 

“Do not be dramatic, Elia,” Rhaegar chuckled, reaching out to softly touch the dormant hand she had by her plate, “I only want what is best for you.”  _ Was it always so, my love? _ Elia Martell thought sadly,  _ was it always so? _ But her thoughts were the chiming wind. Instead, she changed the topic of conversation. The king acting in that manner only proved to fuel the nagging seed of guilt that had laid root in her heart. She had no wish to water it, for it would only ache something the fiercer, if she did.

“This looks appetizing.” 

“It truly does,” the king agreed, taking a sip of his wine. She was not allowed to have wine, for Maester Gerardys said he had noted cases where it disrupted the development of the child. Instead; she was given fruit-juice, as well as iced milk and other beverages.  _ I do not mind, I rarely drank when I was with Aegon and Rhaenys, it is not so great of a compromise.  _

“What are our plans for the trial?” Elia asked after having finished with her piece of pie and stew.

“Are you not going to have more?” Rhaegar asked, giving her a piercing, appraising look.

“I am full,” she eyed him seriously, “And I’ve yet to have dessert.” 

“Hm,” he uttered, inspecting her for a few more moments. 

“You are such a mother-hen, Rhaegar,” she exclaimed, close to laughter, “Cease your clucking and answer my question.” 

“I am not a mother-hen,” he shot her an exasperated look, “I simply worry for you, I do not  _ cluck!” _

“You do,” she countered and then smiled softly, “But it is endearing at times.” Rhaegar Targaryen was always an endearing man, until he wasn’t. 

“And to answer your question,” the king said, his eyes turning dark as he thought of the looming trial, “I came upon an idea and I think it would be the right course of action.” 

“Do share,” Elia mumbled, filling a bowl with fruit, beginning to nibble on the pieces. 

“I am to exempt myself from the trial, leaving the decision to be made by three judges, of course chosen by the hand and I.” 

“What?” she asked sharply, “You will leave the man who planned to  _ murder  _ your children and I’s fate, in the hand of others?” 

“Let me finish, Elia,” Rhaegar told her evenly, continuing on his course of action, “One of them will be you.” 

“Me?” She repeated, taken by surprise, then quite resignedly stating, “The court will not like that.” 

“It does not matter what they like,” he scoffed, “And who better to judge, than the one whom the actions would have impacted the most?” Yes, she was to have been murdered, slaughtered alongside her young children.  _ All for men and their cocks.  _

“Who else?” she asked wearily, rubbing her temples, the summer fruits forgotten. 

“We’ve not quite decided. The hand shall be one of them and we will need someone with Lannister ties, as well. To make it fair.” Nothing was ever fair in Westeros, “Perhaps Lord Stannis Baratheon.”

“He is  _ wed  _ to Lord Tywin’s daughter!” Elia exclaimed, wondering how Rhaegar could be so foolish.

“And do you think he heeds Lady Cersei’s council? Did our journey to Storm’s End convince you of any great love betwixt the two?” her husband demanded, iron lacing the ends of his words, shaking his head, “No. If there is one thing I can trust when it comes to Lord Stannis Baratheon, it is his sense of justice. He will hand out the sentence that is fair, not the one his Lady-wife wants and the evidence is substantial, as I have told you.” 

“Are you certain?” Elia asked, absentmindedly placing a hand upon her stomach, perhaps in search for a bit of comfort or reassurance, “Completely?” Rhaegar Targaryen exhaled and reached over to stroke her cheek, making the Dornishwoman close her eyes and sigh.

“Yes, my love.”  _ Like you were of your prophecy? Like you were of Lyanna? Like you were of your Visenya and the night that would never end?  _ It did no good to voice those words, so she refrained from it. 

“The matter of what to do with his child remains. It is a girl, but what if the next one is a boy? I did not note any real desire for vengeance when I saw Lord Stannis, but Lady Cersei may whisper things in his ear, especially with the trial ahead.” 

“The child,” Rhaegar mused, leaning back into his chair with a weary sigh, “We shall take a child as a ward, that much is true. But whether it shall be this one or the next, I know not.” Elia had a strange thought at that and decided to voice it.

“What if we wait, until Lord Stark’s is to be sent as well? By that point in time, many years will have passed and Lady Cersei will have had an apt time to produce more children. If one of them is a boy, we shall take that one as a ward. Otherwise; we shall take the first-born.” It was horrible to think in that calculating manner, especially for Elia, as a mother. But it was  _ necessary  _ as a queen, one had to be cold and assessing to survive.  _ To prosper.  _

“That is actually quite a good idea,” the king said, after a few moments of thinking it over. 

“I know,” she smiled. 

As Elia Martell observed Rhaegar Targaryen, she noted that he had grown into his role as king. He was no longer a young man, in over his head. The king had recently celebrated his sixth-and-twentieth nameday, thought it’d been a quiet affair, considering the ominous trial ahead. Elia herself would turn nine-and-twenty in seven moons. Time had passed, yet it rarely seemed to touch any of them and remained so fleeting. Had it really been that long? Of course it had, Aegon was to be four by the end of the year, Rhaenys would turn six a few moons after that and around the same time as the princess, Viserys would turn ten. It felt so very strange that Daenerys was a girl of one, and Aemon a boy of two. Lyanna herself was no longer a girl of six-and-ten, but would turn twenty in a year’s turn. 

Yet another babe did not quicken in her womb, for some odd reason.  _ Does Rhaegar still claim his husbandly rights with her? _ Elia recalled a fleeting, bitter comment of discontent regarding that, from Lyanna when they had been in Dorne.  _ Perhaps he does not wish to worry of two babes, when he does not need to. Or is it something else? _ Elia was curious now.

“Do you bed Lyanna regularly?” Queen Elia asked suddenly, the words slipping out of their own accord. She almost wished to laugh at how the king near choked on his wine, putting the goblet down and coughing continuously for a few moments. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, trying to contain her laughter. Somehow the prospect of him bedding his second wife did not hurt her, or make her feel anything quite at all. In truth; she’d never put much thought into what Rhaegar did with his Northern wife behind closed doors. Perhaps there had been a time where she’d been jealous and angry but… she could not quite recall how things had used to be. Now; it would have been especially hypocritical of her, were she to have been wroth, for she had bedded Jaime, time upon time.  _ Maybe I am even carrying his child,  _ and the prospect both frightened her and filled her with equal parts warmth and shame. 

“Why do you ask?” Rhaegar questioned, an eyebrow raised as he eyed her peculiarly, perhaps searching for a tinge of jealousy. After all; she was with child. Lords often feared the wrath of their wives when they were with child, for the slightest matter could turn a breeze into a storm.

“I am simply wondering,” the Dornish Queen shrugged, nibbling on a strawberry, waiting for his reply. He would think it suspicious if she mentioned Lyanna was childless, or perhaps the notion that she had  _ noticed  _ Lyanna did not grow great with another babe. 

“A strange thing to wonder,” her husband frowned slightly, worrying his bottom lip with his front row of teeth. 

“A strange thing to stall answering,” she countered, eyeing him evenly, “Do you?” 

“Once every while,” he allowed, taking a sip of the Arbor Gold. The situation was almost humorous, it was as if they could be speaking of the weather, not how many times he fucked his second wife.

“And that entails?” Elia knew she was being vexatious by continuing her inquiry, but could not bring herself to care. 

“I do not keep a  _ tally, _ Elia,” he bristled, exhaling loudly, before shrugging and explaining, “Once every second moon or so.”

“How sparsely,” the Dornish queen noted, taking a sip of her apple-juice. 

“Well she needs to… recover. Aemon was a traumatic birth and I am not the kind to force myself upon women.”  _ Perhaps Lyanna is afraid to ask and Rhaegar simply thinks she does not want to. Or mayhaps he does not feel an urge to.  _

It was quite strange, since Rhaegar had been so frequent in visiting Elia’s own bed, ever since she allowed him back into it. They’d not lain together since Winterfell, however. That was because the journey back South had been ever taxing for the Dornishwoman and upon their return they’d, at least Elia, had felt too busy to. Besides, the Gods spoke against carnal relations when it came to women who were with child, but they had never bothered about that before. There seemed to be no reason to start now. 

“I see,” was all Elia had time to say, for she felt another flutter in her stomach. 

“Are you alright?” Rhaegar stood up and moved to her side, worrisomely. 

“My clucking hen,” she chuckled, smiling with mirth, “I am alright. The babe kicked.” 

“Oh,” realisation dawned upon the king and for a second, his indigo eyes ceased with their ever-present melancholy and grew large with joy, “May I?” he proceeded to ask, moving a hand closer to Elia’s belly as he crouched down by her.

“Of course,” she replied softly, taking his hand and placing it against the spot where the babe had last kicked, “Go on,” the Dornishwoman urged the babe, “Perform your tricks for your father to feel, as well.”

And then, after a few moments, the kick came. A soft, gentle one it was,  _ like Aegon’s. _

“How magical,” Rhaegar murmured, turning to meet her eyes with indigo skies of tenderness. 

“He is calm, like our Aegon.” 

“He?” the king asked evenly and she turned to him with a sharp look.  _ Leave your prophecies to rest. It will be a child, love it as that, not as a pawn in some greater scheme. _

“Rhaenys was more restless and eager. I suspect it is a boy.” In truth; she did not quite know. The babe was more engaging than Aegon had been, yet much less so than her daughter.

“And I shall take your word for it, sweet Elia,” Rhaegar nodded and he did not seem distressed or fervent with her revelation. He simply kissed the fabric adorning her stomach and stood up.

With that, Elia rose as well, thinking that it was time for her to retire to bed. 

“Supper was pleasant, Your Grace, but now I shall retire to mine own chambers.” Her husband raised an eyebrow when she said ‘Your Grace’ and pulled her into his arms.

“Likewise,  _ My Queen,” _ he whispered and Elia could feel his smile against her skin, warm like summer. Not cold like death, “But I would really like it if you stayed this eve. I miss the feeling of you in my arms.” Elia mulled over the words and decided that the company would be more welcome than an empty bed.  _ I do have some old shifts and robes here, somewhere.  _

Therefore, she nodded and went off in search of her evening garments. It turned out that they were in the last drawer of the King’s dresser. Elia chose a shift of lilac satin and it was slightly tight around her body, so she decided to discard it and simply tied a red robe of silk loosely around her waist. When that was solved, she removed the braids from her dark hair and began brushing it out in front of the large mirror in Rhaegar’s chambers. The king returned from the sitting room and decided to quietly observe her for a few moments. 

“It is rude to stare,” she told him, her tone light, filled with the explosive warmth of a dying star, whose light was destined to go out.

“Perhaps,” he began, moving to put his arms around her, “Allowances can be made for kings.” 

“Perhaps,” she agreed, placing the brush on top of a dresser, turning around to meet indigo eyes, strangely purple in the light, “But maybe they should not be.” Much pain went into the effort of making allowances, especially in the name of kings. 

“You looked very beautiful today,” he chose to compliment instead and her heart grew heavy. Why? She could not tell, or perhaps did not want to. Elia had nothing and yet everything to feel shame for.  _ The world does that to women, men do that to women. They worship them like gods and consequently name them whores. Often; in the same breath. _

“How kind of you to say, My King,” she replied instead, smiling softly as Rhaegar leaned down to kiss her lips, tenderly cupping her cheek. His other hand wandered from her neck, down her side and underneath the robe. 

“How daring,” he pulled back, smirking as much as a man like Rhaegar Targaryen could. He was not made for smirks,  _ Jaime was. _ However, it did not make him any less beautiful.

“I am too fat for the shift, I fear.” 

“You are not fat,” he chided her, “You are with child.” 

“Tell me the difference,” Elia told him dryly, rolling her eyes.

“Do not be smart with me,” he smiled, eyes light, kissing her again, “And I must say, I prefer you without the shift.”  _ Didn’t they all? Women were made for men, after all.  _ Or so the Westerosi believed. 

“Come on,” she slipped out of his embrace, moving to take the man’s hand instead, “Lest you dishonor me against a mirror.” 

“I’ve dishonored you against far more controversial pieces of furnishing,” Rhaegar replied intensely.  _ Like the stands of Harrenhal?  _ Her mind asked, but that was not the sort of dishonoring her husband was speaking of, “The painted table, for one.” 

“Oh, that,” Elia winced a bit, “I suspect that every member of House Targaryen has dishonored someone by that table and it is a bit strange to think about, considering they are all  _ dead  _ now.” 

“You were very fond of it at the moment, I recall,” her husband grinned as she moved to sit down in the middle of the bed. Then, he removed his clothing and joined her, drawing the red canopies closed. 

“I am sure,” she smiled, eyeing the man in front of her. His skin was still warm, kissed by the sun of Dorne, yet some of it had receded, leaving it slightly more faded than before. 

“Your hair is longer,” she noted, reaching out to caress the waves that were more silver than gold.

“Yes,” he breathed, “Earlier, I thought perhaps a cut was in order.” 

“I like it, though,” Elia murmured, sighing softly as Rhaegar leaned forward, kissing her slowly, as his hands untied her robe, letting it fall from her shoulders. His lips drifted from hers, down to her chin and neck, then to her breasts, making her hiss. 

“We shouldn’t, Rhaegar,” the Dornishwoman breathed, as the king gently urged her on her back, “The Gods-” why did she revert to the Gods? They’d never mattered much to her when she was with Rhaenys or Aegon, why now? Was it because she felt the sticky layer of guilt engulf her, for bedding a man, when she was in love with another?

“-The Gods can say naught,” Rhaegar paused, staring into her eyes, “It is not for them to judge how a man loves his wife.”  _ And is this what you consider constitutes as loving?  _ Perhaps it was, or Rhaegar Targaryen simply had a distorted sense when it came to love.  _ Didn’t they all?  _

The way he was looking at her, it could have made any maiden fall to their knees. How beautiful he was, the blood of old Valyria and in that moment; he belonged to her.  _ Only  _ in that moment, The silver-haired man could never be hers perpetually, but then again; could any king? 

“I love you,” the silver-haired man told his wife, lips against her neck, trailing down her body.

“Down,” she breathed, leaning against the pillows, hands twisting in his hair. Rhaegar stopped to lock eyes with her, indigo eyes black in the darkness and his head between her thighs, but she could have sworn she saw them flash green. Then, he began using his lips and tongue for more glorious things than uttering honeyed words through solemn eyes. 

“Gods,” she almost mewled, toes curling in the silk fabric of the black sheets, as Rhaegar’s teeth grazed a slightly sensitive spot and then he kept on going. Until she was biting her lip to stop herself from letting out too scandalous sounds. Mayhaps it was an unconscious notion of hers, for the room was silent and any sound would eventually reach Ser Jaime’s ears and she did not want it to. Then, the Dornishwoman felt the familiar feeling of immediate ecstasy. Had anything ever felt so pleasant as spending? It was such a shame it never lasted very long at all. 

Suddenly, Rhaegar’s lips were against hers, kissing as if he could not stop. Then, he entered her and even though she’d spent moments earlier, the feeling was almost euphoric and the way he was moving so fast was maddening. He would whisper her name with each thrust, or strange sentences in Valyrian-- face in the crook of her neck as she held onto his back with one hand, and the silver-gold hair with the other. 

The king spent with a groan against her ear, and Elia wondered whether they had been too loud.

***

“The Lady Cersei arrives soon, alongside her Lord-husband,” Elia told her good-mother, her feelings in the greatest of turmoil. She would not judge a daughter by the actions of her father, yet Cersei was Tywin where Jaime was something else entirely.  _ I must be queenly, accommodating toward their needs. Be stone,  _ she told herself, in order to prepare for the trial that was to be held in a week’s turn.  _ Be the marble in the walls. No one can ever see you weep, no more than they can see you bleed. If Targaryens are dragons, then you are the sun and spear.  _

“She does indeed,” The beautiful, former queen acknowledged, “And I hear her uncle is on his way, bringing with him the young Tyrion. All of them are set to observe the trial.”  _ At least Jaime will see his brother, once more. That is good,  _ Elia forced herself to believe, yet another feeling was gnawing on her-- More acute than even her concerns over her unborn child’s paternity.  _ What will happen when Jaime meets his sister, once more?  _

Of course she had faith in the man, he had both her love and trust, as well as devotion. But he was Cersei’s  _ before  _ he was ever hers. Their relationship had gnawed on the Dornishwoman for so very long, it almost seemed to haunt every shadow and corner.  _ It was wrong and twisted... _ perhaps a crueler woman, one who was not in love, could find it in them to scorn the fact, to preach as if they’d no skeletons of their own in the cupboard. However, Elia was not such a woman.  _ When one’s heart bears a deep fondness and love for someone, it is easy to overlook their mistakes and regrets. _ Some would argue it was too easy. Perhaps that was one of the vices of loving, something that was equal parts damning and saving.  _ I worry that… maybe he shall see her and be reminded that she is his sun… that he will realise that I was naught more than a piece to occupy his lonely time. _ Mayhaps she was rambling far too much and feeling everything  _ too  _ deeply. After all; that was normal for a woman with child but she could not help it, the hopelessness that consumed her, the sudden melancholy episodes. 

“How intriguing,” Elia replied, stirring her tea with a spoon, “But let us speak of merrier things. How are your relations with our dear Ser Bonifer?” the Dornishwoman inquired, smiling knowingly. It was as if a new light had been breathed into the Dowager Queen, after her lost, childhood love was returned to her. 

“He is as chivalrous as I remember,” Rhaella smiled, almost like a blushing maiden and not a woman who had endured to the extent that she had, “And attentive as well, upon both Daenerys and I. He is a good man, I think that perhaps I love him, but do I even know what that is, any longer? All I’ve ever known is duty. Sometimes that can be mistaken as love…” the silver-gold-haired woman pondered, dark eyes glossing over with something akin to a dark remembrance.

“Of course you do,” the Dornishwoman assured, reaching over to place a gentle hand atop Rhaella’s, squeezing comfortingly, “You’ve a whole life ahead of you. The sorrow is the past, let it wash away from you like the tide. Aerys  _ will not  _ haunt your future, you shall not give him that power. Therefore; do not let him.” 

“Such a compassionate and wise woman you are,” the Dowager Queen smiled softly, “Like your mother. You are ever in her image and she would have been proud. I promise you that.” It was such a shame that Loreza Martell was never allowed the chance to meet her grandchildren by her daughter.  _ She would have loved them, _ Elia knew,  _ she would have doted upon Aegon and delighted in Rhaenys’s unpredictable nature. It would have reminded her of Oberyn and I. Perhaps this one would have reminded her of Doran.  _

“Thank you, good-mother,” Elia inhaled shakily, “I needed that,” she continued, “It is so difficult sometimes…” 

“I know, my sweet child,” the Dowager Queen nodded sympathetically, “A queen often feels alone. To be one is to be worshipped like a god, but it strips one of their humanity. All we become are deities, and the court demands we keep up the pretense. Thus, the pressure only builds until we are under-water, gasping for air.” 

“But it is a burden we must bear,” the Dornishwoman shook her head solemnly, “However, your time of carrying it is done. You deserve to rest now, to be happy.” 

“Oh, Elia,” Rhaella smiled strangely, “Rest never comes for the likes of me. The ghosts keep me up at night… and sometimes they are almost kind.” The former Targaryen queen had endured so much sorrow in her life, gorged enough on suffering and grief.  _ It leaves marks upon the soul, etches its name into it with pain.  _ Rhaella Targaryen deserved to be happy, more than anyone else in King’s Landing, or so Elia thought. 

“I wish I could undo your pain and make it my own,” the Dornish queen said, so sadly, moving to cup the silver-haired woman’s warm hands.  _ Alive.  _ Then, she leaned back into her armchair.

“You’ve enough of your own, too much for such a young woman,” the Dowager Queen shook her head, “Yet your heart remains kind, where other women would have turned to bitter conspiracies to soothe the terrible ache in their chest.”

“How is it that we say we will speak of merry things and it always ends up with more than a touch of melancholy?” Elia smiled ruefully, trying to ignore the growing hopelessness in her chest. 

“Because we understand each other where the court fails,” Rhaella sighed, a haunting universe present in those dark, purple eyes, “And there is a kinship to be found in shared sorrow. It brings people closer together, entwining them together in a shared solidarity of endurance.” 

“On the occasion; the words seem to pour out of their own accord,” the Dornishwoman pondered, straightening her back in the red armchair, “Perhaps it is because we are subconsciously aware of how no one else can truly understand.” 

“That does have the ring of truth to it,” Rhaella acknowledged, taking a sip of her tea, then smiling softly, “How is my grandchild?” Something about the words made Elia wish to weep, for they twisted something inside her gut.  _ What if I told you that perhaps it is not your grandchild? Would you still think so highly of me, good-mother? Would you still freely give me your love and compassion?  _

“It is well,” she tried to smile, absentmindedly caressing her stomach with her right hand, “Quite the sweetheart.”

“As gentle as our princes, then?” the pale woman asked, fond tears shining like amethysts in her haunting eyes.  _ She loves it already. She loves us all so much.  _

“And princesses,” Elia beamed, feeling a warmth spread in her chest, “Sweet Dany is a darling of a girl. I can scarcely believe she has reached her first nameday. 

“Neither can I, on the occasion,” Rhaella shared softly, “And Bonifer dotes on her like a father… like a true father. For the first time since the tragedy at Summerhal, I feel happy-- hopeful, alive. Not like a ghost haunting these painful halls.” 

“And you are so deserving of feeling that way, good-mother,” the Dornishwoman reminded the former queen, who gazed at her peculiarly for a few silent moments.

“Do not forget that you are, as well.” 

_ Am I truly?  _

***

“Mama, look!” Rhaenys exclaimed, pointing at a shadowy figure in the corner of her bedchamber, “Balerion had kitties!” Indeed, the black cat looked to be accompanied by two smaller kittens, but it did not seem like the cat had given birth when Elia inspected it more closely, crouching down to get a closer look at the two new arrivals.  _ Perhaps it is his kin and he decided to bring them here…  _ The cat known as Balerion had always been a strange one,  _ yet Rhaenys loves him well and… I suppose I do, too. _ In fact; the cat had been staying closer to the Dornishwoman than ever before, since they returned to King’s Landing. He would even on the occasion; sleep next to her, much to the dismay of Rhaegar. 

_ “I do not think he should be this close to you,” Rhaegar eyed the black creature with glowing, orange eyes warily, “He has attacked many a servants and ladies roaming these halls.”  _

_ “You are simply jealous, Rhaegar,” Elia lazed, scratching Balerion on the chin with her dainty fingers, earning soft purrs, “Just because you are unfavorable in Balerion’s eyes does not mean that he thinks the same of me. You’ve always been kind to me, have you not?” She asked the cat lovingly.  _

_ “That cat can be evil,” the king warned disdainfully, “Do not get on his bad side.”  _

_ “I never have,” Elia replied boredly, resting her head against the satin pillow, placing an arm over the cat to embrace it as it lay cuddled up against her chest.  _

_ “You treat that cat more favorably than you do me,” Rhaegar grumbled but warily climbed in behind her, putting an arm around her waist, careful to avoid the curled-up cat in her grasp.  _

_ “If I do, then why am I with your child?” she replied before the words had registered properly and when they did… she shoved down the guilt and swallowed hard, changing the subject, “Besides; he is the sweetest thing… when he wants to be and he loves our daughter well.”  _

“It appears that he did, sweetling,” the Dornishwoman replied, beckoning her daughter forward with a gesture of her arm, “What shall we name them?” 

“Hmm,” the princess contemplated, finally shrugging, “I don’t know. Shall we ask Vissy and Egg?” What a proper lady that princess was, her precocious manner of articulating herself often proved to lighten Elia’s heart. 

“Mayhaps Ser Jaime will have an input as well, let us call them all here,” the princess’s mother replied, earning an eager nod from the lavender-eyed girl. 

Once they were all gathered, almost huddled, around Balerion and his children, Elia posed the question. 

“Now… what do we name them?” There was a black one, with the perfect image of its father, then a smaller one, the color of snow laid beside it, mewling softly as Balerion groomed it tenderly. 

“What do you think?” Viserys asked his niece as she sat content in his embrace. Aegon had wished to be in Elia’s, clinging to her arms around him. 

“I told mama I do not know and to ask you,” the girl replied, turning to face her uncle with those doe, lavender eyes, framed by dark lashes. 

“What about Lewyn?” Viserys then suggested after quiet contemplation, “The black one has his eyes, I recall it.” Elia almost forgot the machinations of breathing, after the oldest Targaryen prince said those words. Suddenly; her eyes were brimming with tears and she felt Jaime’s discreet hand by the side of her thigh-- no, recognised it because it was large and tender and anchored her to the world of living men. 

“Your Gra-” Jaime began carefully as the Dornish queen leaned down to kiss the top of Aegon’s head, holding the child close to her, willing the tears to subside, for she had no wish to frighten the children, but it  _ hurt. _ It hurt something fierce-- Tore at her heart and set her nerves aflame. 

“-I- I did not mean to make you sad, Elia,” came Viserys’s slightly panicked words and the queen noted the boy’s cheeks were flushed in alarm. 

“No,” she dried her tears with the back of her hand and turned to meet the prince’s large, lilac eyes, “You did not make me sad, Viserys. It was a lovely suggestion and I think that it would do much to honor my uncle. He was never fond of big gestures, anyway,” she laughed half-heartedly and placed a comforting hand on the young boy’s shoulder, to let him know it was alright. Jaime’s hand relaxed against her thigh as she spoke the words and grew less tense.  _ I must stop being such a bleating cow,  _ she chastised herself. 

The fact that Viserys had considered and chosen such a meaningful name only made her love the boy more. He was so sweet and kind, but also thoughtful. It warmed her heart, for Viserys had not been around her uncle Lewyn much at all, yet he still  _ remembered  _ and how many could boast that fact? It soothed her aching heart.  _ My uncle will not be forgotten. He is not forgotten.  _

“Lewyn ‘s nice,” Aegon told her softly, cupping her cheeks with his small, chubby hands as he looked into her eyes, a sea of purple against brown.

“I like it too, mama,” came Rhaenys’s gentle words. 

“A worthy name, My Queen,” Jaime said, his emerald eyes glinting with something beyond her comprehension. 

“Lewyn it is, then,” Elia exhaled shakily and smiled, “Now, on to the white one… what is this little thing to be called?” The black kitten had begun moving toward them, staring with large, golden eyes. Viserys carefully took hold of it and held it to Rhaenys, both of them petting it tenderly. All the previous words seemed forgotten. 

“Here you go, Aegon,” Viserys said after a few moments, moving toward Elia and his nephew, gently cradling the little kitten, who did not seem to mind being held at all. 

Her son giggled and gasped as the kitten thus began purring and nestling itself against the crook of his neck. Elia watched the scene fondly and helped hold the creature in place, turning to Jaime with an indecipherable look in her eyes. It had been so long since she held him, since kissed him, since she told him that she truly loved him. That nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach wished her to have all her affairs in order, should the pregnancy have the most dreaded outcome. Elia had always been a pragmatic person… she knew it was a possibility, a very large one. Death, death, the color of cold. The picture of decay, the sun drowned out with grey.

“What about White Lion?” Elia asked suddenly, smirking slightly as she eyed the man she loved. 

“How amusing, Your Grace,” Jaime replied dryly but the wry humor shone bright in his eyes. 

“Balerion, Lewyn and White Lion,” Viserys broke the silence ponderously, “I like it,” he decided. 

“I like it too!” Rhaenys concurred, moving to place White Lion into her embrace, the cat mewling slightly, until it settled. 

“Careful, princess. Kittens are of a very delicate constitution,” Jaime told the girl before Elia had the chance to, noticing the slightly careless way in which her daughter picked the kitten up. 

“I did not hurt it, did I?” the princess thus asked, horrified by the mere possibility, “I did not mean to,” she continued, voice cracking as her eyes began filling with crystalline tears. Balerion, seeming to notice his master’s distress, rose and stretched, moving over to settle by the girl’s legs.

“No, you did not but be careful, Rhae. Just like Ser Jaime said,” Viserys soothed, kissing the top of her head gently.

“Oh, okay,” the girl sniffled and then with the utmost tenderness that a girl of five could muster; stroked the small kitten, who looked to be no more than two moons old to Elia, and finished by kissing the top of its triangular head. 

Once they were finished, having named the kittens and settled the children in their consecutive beds, Elia turned to Ser Jaime with an exhausted smile. 

“If you would be so kind as to escort me to the Godswood, Ser. I would pray before I sleep.” 

“At this late of an hour?” the knight asked perplexedly, then even more confusedly stating, “The Godswood?” _ It is the only place I am sure that Varys’s spiders do not linger. _ Her heart was aching, yearning for his warmth. She just wanted to be held by him, told that her fears were irrational and that all would be well… Even though it would not be. 

“Yes. I would like to try my chances with all the Gods,” she told him, beaming, “Mayhaps one will choose to listen.” 

“Oh, I see,” he murmured, walking beside her, light on his feet like a panther. They passed a few ladies and lords, to which the queen had to stop and converse with for a few moments. They seemed slightly impressed by her supposed piety, and she let them believe that was what it was. 

“How are you feeling, Your Grace?” Jaime asked suddenly, an edge to his words,“With the babe and…” he faltered, to which she inhaled deeply. 

“I am as well as can be expected,” the Dornish queen shared, “This babe is small, it seems. Perhaps slow to grow but it will,” she vowed, “It must.” 

“You are feeling strong, then?” he inquired hopefully, emerald eyes shining with optimism of someone who had not birthed two children and almost perished doing so. Not wanting to have him worry, Elia replied “Yes, Ser.” 

The sun hung low, red and purple and orange in the horizon by the time they reached the Godswood.  _ It will be dark soon,  _ she knew. It was an eerie place, that wood of worship but it had a tranquility to it that none could argue against. Her head felt clearer, the air was fresher, her heart calmed its overworked beats. Perhaps it could appear ominous to strangers,  _ but on occasion; people must find the beauty in what frightens them.  _

“Is it not picturesque, Ser?” Elia asked, sitting down by a bench, surrounded by green vines, sighing as she cradled her bump. 

“You are more so,” Jaime replied, sending a cheeky wink her way, making the Dornishwoman chuckle slightly. 

“Oh, quit it, will you?” she asked, mirth twinkling in those bronze eyes, “Lest you charm me out of my smallclothes.” Well, that had already occurred quite a long time ago. 

“You act as if I would mind that outcome,” he told her evenly and with a shake of his head, beckoned her further in the Godswood, to where the trees were more thick-set and guarded by leaves. 

Elia duly began moving further in, until they reached an elk with a trunk so large it covered the both of them with ease. The Dornishwoman was scarcely allowed to catch her breath before Jaime’s lips were on hers, with a bleeding ferocity. The queen replied in kind, for she had almost wished to weep with the ache that being away from him had caused. Of course she would interact in the same manner as before, but it was not physical. She could not openly hold his hand, or have him kiss her, or have him embrace and love her.

“I missed you,” he gasped against her lips, breathing hard as she cupped his face tenderly.

“I missed you too, my love.” They remained like that for so long that the world seemed to end and come alive again. Neither of them spoke, they simply relished in each other’s closeness, the raw physicality of it all. 

She was the first to utter “Jaime,” breaking their sacred bubble of tranquil love. 

“Elia,” he grinned and leaned down to trail kisses from her jaw, down her neck, to the top of her breasts. 

She did not want to doubt his love. It tore at her to do so, but she wanted to know how he regarded the arrival of his brother… and sister. 

“Are you aware that your brother will arrive in a few days, and your sister as well?” Jaime stopped and turned to meet her gaze, uttering a simple “Yes.” 

“How does that make you feel?” the Dornishwoman continued as she stroked his hair absentmindedly. 

“I am pleased to be meeting my brother again, but I wish it had been during more favorable circumstances,” the knight replied grimly, eyes downcast. 

“And your sister?” Elia did not mean to make it sound accusatory. 

“Cersei?” he asked, frowning, “Are you worried I-” 

“-Can you simply  _ answer  _ the question?” the Dornishwoman inquired sharply and perhaps it was too direct, for a brief glimpse of hurt flashed in his eyes, making feelings of guilt pile onto the ones she already had, weighing on her chest. 

“She is my sister,” he shrugged, “I remain quite indifferent toward it. I’ve already been able to go many years without seeing her, as a knight of the Kinsguard. This time shall be no different.”  _ But you fucked her, you loved her! She is not only your sister and we both know that, _ she wanted to tell him. But perhaps Elia was judging him unfairly, clouded by her own perceptions of a situation she had no part in.

“Your father’s trial is to be held next week.”

“I know,” the knight replied quietly, eyes focused on something in the distance, clouding over.

“I am to be one of the judges.” 

“I was made aware to that fact.” 

“I may condemn him. Most likely.” There was something in Jaime’s eyes that she could not decipher… a sort of resignation.

“I think my father died the moment my mother did and whatever crude, cold shape took his form is what he is today.”

“He is still your father,” she told him, “You still love him.” Would he hate her for having a part in killing his father?

“I do not know what I feel any longer, in regards to my family,” Jaime told her, his voice sounding quite without hope, “He ordered the deaths of your children. Of the girl I greet every morn, whose smile speaks of sunshine, not death. Aegon is such a gentle boy,” he shook his head, “And my father would have had them both robbed of life, all for the reason of their family-name. My father has been a ghost for years, if he is to be condemned for his crimes, then he is. What I feel will not change that and I have come to terms with it. You will do what is right, I know you will. It does not change my love for you, not in the slightest.” 

Elia nodded but then angled her eyes downward, a fleeting thought of how mayhaps Lady Cersei arriving in King’s Landing would do that. 

“You are worried of Cersei, as well, are you not?” he asked, not unkindly. 

“You cut your hair,” she changed the topic of discussion, running a hand through the cropped, golden locks, discarding a green leaf stuck in it with reserved ease. 

The knight took hold of her hand sharply and with a fearsome resolve spoke “I love you and  _ she  _ will  _ not  _ change that.” 

“Alright, Jaime,” the Dornish queen replied, feeling his grip on her wrist loosen, “I trust you.” 

“Good,” he replied, eyeing her intensely, “Because I trust you each time you are with your husband; that your heart resides with I and  _ not  _ him. I trust that each time he puts his cock in you, that you do not fall out of love with me. Do you know how difficult it is  _ not  _ to think of those things? That perhaps one day I shall not even matter to you. Do you know how utterly  _ powerless  _ it makes me feel? To have your heart but no other part of you? That these hushed exclamations shall inevitably be what defines us? That I may be the  _ father  _ of your child, but  _ never  _ the acknowledged one. You neglect to see that I ponder these matters just as fiercely as you do, Elia.” He appeared so sad as he spoke the haunted words.

The Dornishwoman remained speechless for a few moments, soaking up the words and feeling her heart grow heavy.  _ How selfish have I been? To think that this man does not worry at all? To think that because he smiles, grins and japes, that he does not hide a sorrow as deep as mine, beneath? _ How could she not have thought of it? That perhaps he was trying to put on a strong facade to appease and soothe her own worries… That he was burying his own pain to help alleviate hers. 

“Oh, Jaime,” she frowned sadly, putting her arms around him, leaning her head against his chest, feeling the metal of his breast-plate but yearning for the warmth of skin, “I am so sorry.” Was that all she could say these days?  _ It seems like it. I am always so sorry, even Jaime said it when we were in Winterfell. _ Sometimes… it seemed like to her sorrow, there was no end. 

“I shouldn’t have,” he sighed, “I should not have-” 

“-You did right in telling me, Jaime,” Elia looked up to meet his emerald eyes that were brimming with regret.

“But you are with child and none of my worries will help any of your burdens or predicaments and it is only cruel of me to complain of matters to which there is no resolve... _ Stupid Lannister,  _ they call me the stupid one because I always act  _ before  _ I think.” 

“I do not think you are stupid,” the Dornish queen told him sincerely, “You are so immensely bright in your own way, Jaime. I’ve been selfish, neglecting to see your side of the matter and I apologise for that, my love. It was never my intention.” 

“I know,” the man told her as she observed his fair face, from the glowing cat-eyes, to his straight, narrow nose and those full lips that always succeeded in making her think the most sinful of things. He was truthful, Elia could tell from the honest set of his jaw and the adoration all-but pouring out of him. 

“I love you so much that if one could die from it, then the Mother would have been awarded my soul already. You must know, do not ever doubt it.” 

“And I love you so much that I will kill both man and god alike, should they ever try to take you from me.” The Dornishwoman smiled softly at that and moved to stroke his cheek, just now noticing how the sky was a dark, midnight blue-- spattered with stars. 

“Perhaps we should return, lest they wonder why the Gods are keeping me so long.” 

“Have you had your fair share of prayers, my pious lady?” Jaime asked with a slight grin, tilting her chin upward. His eyes remained somber, however. Too grave for a man like Jaime Lannister; who could have been the son of the joyous sun. 

“Mayhaps an additional one is needed, to seal my devotion.” 

“What seal do you have in mind?” the knight inquired, his breath hot on her lips, his own mere inches away from hers. 

“A kiss, I would be so bold as to say,” Elia played along tugging him closer to her. 

With a grin that cut like a knife, Jaime spoke, “The Gods do demand their dues. We must not stall.” 

Then, his lips were on hers as moonglow danced in luminescent waves on their skin. 

The air smelled sweet of corruption.

***

When Lord Tywin Lannister arrived, there had been a collective, tense silence amongst the inhabitants of the Red Keep, as they observed the man, who stood tall in his fettered chains. Rhaegar had opted to accept the man in the throne room, and had a clergy read out the charges, as befit a prisoner of Lord Tywin’s status. Both Queen Lyanna and Elia were silent, cold as ice, by the feet of the iron throne. 

The lord’s eyes fastened on her immediately, briefly acknowledging the fact that she was with child. Perhaps the news had not been able to reach him when he’d been journeying to King’s Landing, but what did it matter? Lord Tywin Lannister had been well-aware of Elia’s fragility, which was why the man had never seen her as a true threat to his daughter inevitably marrying Rhaegar Targaryen. Alas for Lord Tywin, his belief of personal superiority proved his downfall.  _ Mayhaps this even pleases him, me being with child. He wishes me to die, I know he does. He did it when I first wed Rhaegar and he does it, still.  _

She felt a queer dissonance as the clergy read out the charges… conspiracy, treason, conspiring to murder the heirs… it did go on, but perhaps she fell deaf to some of them. It was all the same;  _ he wanted my children dead, for no other reason than being Targaryens and the heirs to the throne… Simply to appease a drunken, whoremonger and have his daughter be the new queen… It does not take a maester to come to the conclusion that should Robert have been victorious, Lord Tywin would have wanted him to wed Cersei, as a payment for disposing of the last Targaryen heirs. _

Turning to Lyanna, who stood to her left, Elia drew a strange strength from the fierce nod of solidarity that the woman gave her.  _ A queen must be stone, _ Rhaella had told her once, and stone, she would be. _ I will not let him draw enjoyment from seeing me crumble.  _ She was the sun and she would scald him. The Lord Lannister remained silent and stared unflinchingly at the king as the clergyman began finishing.  _ He will never bow down and be stomped upon, _ that she knew,  _ not even if it would save his life.  _

Lady Cersei could be seen a few paces behind her father, next to the Lord of Storm’s End. Was she not a vision of summer in her emerald gown and golden hair, in its intricate, southern updo? However her features were made of composed glass, giving nothing away. Her eyes seemed enraged, though… perchance a bit of fright swirled in those emerald orbs, too. Elia could not tell from that distance. Lord Stannis appeared the same as he had in the Stormlands; indifferent and unimpressed, as if he would rather be any place else. The Dornish queen understood his unwillingness… he detested the falsehood of the South as much as many other honest men did. 

Elia had greeted the Lady and Lord of Storm’s end when they’d first arrived, the previous eve. However; she had then feigned an indisposition, even if all had been well with her.  _ I simply did not feel like meeting or engaging with them for a longer period of time. It is tiring to don my floppy ears and repeat false courtesies to people I’ve no wish to be in my presence.  _ Their longer meeting would surely have been that of a charade, where everyone kept up their pretenses, ignoring the circumstances which brought them all together. 

There were other familiar faces present, too… Lord Kevan, for example. He stood in support of his brother, his liege. Then, a small shape to his side drew her eye. At first it appeared to be a small child, yet she quickly noticed that it was no child at all… it was little Tyrion, or as some were fond of remarking; the imp. He had the look of a Lannister, yet his hair was more silver and pale than the golden hue of his siblings, and was flecked with black. The eyes were different, as well; one was black and the other, a startling green. 

He was not comely to look upon, with a jutting forehead, a pug-nose. The crooked posture was brought upon by his twisted spine, short, stubby legs and overlarge torso. However; Elia saw no fault with the boy and Jaime spoke fondly of his brother, on occasion even sorrowfully.  _ He has been forced to suffer so many injustices in his life, all for being born the way he was. I would not have wished my children to be judged for being Targaryen; why should I judge Tyrion for being a dwarf? He has done no wrong.  _

The young boy looked to be nervous by his uncle’s side, yet kept a strong facade, one Elia found herself admiring.  _ He can be no more than two-and-ten namedays old and has the look of a boy who only wants to be loved. _ How tragic it was to know that the only one who ever truly gave that boy affection, was leagues upon leagues away in the capital.  _ I shall speak to Rhaegar, _ Elia vowed,  _ of allowing Ser Jaime leisure time to spend with his brother. He must allow it, Jaime has been such a great help to our family.  _

Tywin, as suspected, pleaded not guilty to the charges laid against him and would await judgement from his trial. Then, he was taken away to the dungeons, to spend the eve there. She would have wished it to have been the black cells; alas it was a renovated dungeon for prisoners of high birth. He vanished as if he had never been, like the lord had only been a figment of her imagination during a wicked, horrible fever dream. However; she knew that it was not. 

This was real life, which entailed that the monsters were real, too.

***

After supper that very eve, Elia had organized it so that the royal family, consisting of her, Lyanna, Rhaenys, Aegon, Aemon, Daenerys and Viserys were to take a walk in the courtyard, accompanied by Ser Jaime and the young Tyrion. Rhaegar had been forced to decline, instead overseeing preparations for the trial that was to be held the next day. Rhaella had opted to join her oldest son. The Dornish queen had neglected to invite Lord Stannis and Lady Cersei… as much for her sake, as for Jaime and Tyrion’s.  _ Our conversation would surely be stifled and stiff with those two.  _ Besides; the Dornishwoman felt a strong urge against witnessing the golden twins together, not wanting to be reminded of her own feelings of inadequacy when it came to her white knight.

They were all in the nursery, having clothed and made everyone as presentable as they could be. Jaime and Tyrion were waiting outside in the hall, yet Elia wanted to make something utterly clear to all the young ones present. 

“Children,” she told them, Daenerys in her arms, as Aegon clung to her hand, with his little one. 

“What is it, mama?” Rhaenys asked impatiently, huffing when Viserys moved to correct a stray curl that had fallen over the young girl’s eyes. 

“There is something you must know, when it comes to Ser Jaime’s brother, Tyrion.” 

“What?” it was Viserys’s turn to ask, curiosity shining bright in his youthful eyes. 

“He is the same as you all, but he appears different in shape. He is a dwarf and I will have no comments regarding it, do you hear me? You will be kind to him, treat him as any other of your companions.” 

“Yes,” Lyanna agreed, expectantly eyeing the children, “You will not make him feel unwanted or as if he is the center of japes and scorn. Do as Queen Elia says.” 

“Alright,” Viserys nodded solemnly, then his eyes flashed happily, “I hear he likes to read, like me. Do you think he will have read Septon Barths excerpts on dragons, wyverns and wyrms?” The question made Elia chuckle warmly. 

“If he is anything like you, my sweet prince, then he most like has.” 

“What is a dwarf, mama?” Rhaenys asked, frowning curiously. Viserys took the opportunity to explain, before Elia ever had the time to. 

“It is when you are small, like Aegon, Dany and Aemon… but forever,” her uncle shared patiently, looking the princess in the eyes. 

“Oh, so he will be small forever?” Rhaenys asked, lavender eyes sparkling, “Then he will always win at hide and seek!” 

“Perhaps, princess,” Lyanna smiled at the girl, mayhaps admiring the untaintedness of youth, without any of the corruption that growing older in court offered. 

“You mustn’t be frightened of him, children,” Elia reminded them as she moved toward the door, “He may look different on the outside, but inside; he is all the same.” 

“Shall we?” Lyanna asked, holding a quiet Aemon in her arms. Daenerys, upon noticing the prince’s close vicinity, began babbling happily in a language that only babes could comprehend-- earning a chuckle from the Dornishwoman and a smile, as well as replies from the young prince. 

With a nod, Elia asked, “Are they not the sweetest things?” 

“To be sure, Your Grace,” Lyanna agreed warmly, cheeks flushed with something akin to happiness.  _ It is good that she feels better now. She is trying to act like a true queen and who am I to prevent her?  _

At that, Elia opened the door and ushered everyone out of the nursery, watching as Rhaenys skipped happily, holding Viserys’s hand, and Aegon dutifully kept his hold on hers, “Are we ready?” she asked Ser Jaime, brown eyes twinkling as she relished in the sight of him. He looked as if a weight had been lifted from his chest, those emerald orbs sparkled with mirth and a boyhood lost, returned. 

“As ever, My Queen,” he replied, then turning to Lyanna, “Your Grace.” 

“How are you doing this eve, Tyrion?” Elia turned her gaze upon the youngest Lannister, still smiling warmly. The young boy did not seem to know exactly what to make of her graciousness and it saddened something deep within her. 

“Quite well, Your Grace,” he bowed his large head.

“Last time I saw you was when you were no more than a little babe.”

“Not much has changed in that department, My Queen,” the young Lannister replied wryly. 

“And you appear to have inherited your brother’s sense of wry humor,” Elia acknowledged, smiling so vividly it could have put the sun to shame. She did not want to worry of the trial or anything else, just then. In the moment; there was only this and it brought her an immense sense of peace. 

The little Lannister seemed ecstatic to have been compared to his skilled brother, in any way and flushed as he uttered a courteous “Thank you, My Queen. Now I fear you shall have to suffer two of us.” 

“How shall I ever survive?” she jested kindly, earning a slight, amused shake of Jaime’s head.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion then bowed to Lyanna and greeted the Targaryen children. He was only an inch or so taller than her young Aegon. Rhaenys towered over the Lannister with several inches, yet obliging her mother, neither she, nor any other of the children treated Tyrion any differently than they would their other companions. 

“Shall we?” Ser Jaime asked, beaming at Elia as he motioned for them to walk. 

The evening was beautiful, with a slight breeze in the air, as the sun hung low, coloring the horizon all sorts of beautiful colors between orange, yellow and purple. 

“Have you read Septon Barth’s volume on dragons, wyverns and wyrms?” Viserys asked Tyrion Lannister eagerly, eyes yearning for someone to have discussions with. 

“I have, My Prince,” Tyrion nodded ecstatically, “I love dragons!” 

“Me too!” Viserys beamed, moving to sit down by the cloth that the septa had brought, urging the young Lannister to join him. 

Rhaenys moved to sit in her uncle’s lap, snuggling comfortably into his embrace and finally; closed her eyes as her uncle began speaking animatedly with Ser Jaime’s brother, occasionally stroking her hair in the midst. The action made all adults present laugh, for the princess loved her uncle so very much and Viserys, much to the difference of other lordlings, doted upon his niece. They had the fiercest of bonds, _ rue the one who attempts to break it,  _ Elia thought as the rest of them seated themselves on a bench. 

“Sun,” Daenerys babbled in Elia’s lap, pointing at the setting shape in the horizon, her eyes sparkling a gleeful violet.

“That is indeed the sun, my love,” Elia replied, leaning down to kiss the girl’s cheek, embracing her tightly, “Are you not the most precious thing?” 

“I see the sun, too,” Aegon interrupted, perhaps yearning for his mother’s attention, as well. Nodding, the Dornishwoman kissed the top of her son’s head tenderly, as Daenerys played with her hair, occasionally trying to stuff it in her mouth. 

“How lovely that you can see the sun, too, My Prince,” Jaime murmured, but he said it with eyes pointed directly at Elia. It made her feel so full of love that she could surely burst with the warmth of it. 

“How are you doing this day, little Aemon?” The Dornish queen turned to Rhaegar’s youngest child,  _ as of yet… or perhaps he always will be.  _ The princeling eyed her with his mother’s grey eyes, clapping his hands as he attempted to say “Elia” but it sounded more akin to  _ Eyja. _ Laughing, the Dornishwoman nodded, leaning over to stroke his cheek. 

“Yes, that is my name, sweetling.” 

When she looked up to Lyanna, she noted that the Northerner beheld the same, happy look as earlier. 

“Moments like these are pleasant,” the second queen told Elia, eyes verging closer to blue than grey in that light, “I always wish they could last forever.”  _ I do, too.  _

_ But they do not,  _ Elia knew. 

And tomorrow; the trial was to be held. 

With all the doom it would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The earlier note grew too large for everything I wanted to include. Here are some shows available on Netflix that you can watch to educate yourself on the topic of systemic abuse against african-americans and black people in the states, as well as racism. 
> 
> -The 13th amendment.  
> \- When they see us  
> -LA 92  
> -Trial by media: 41 shots  
> \- Who killed Malcolm X?  
> -The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson
> 
> Petitions you can add your name to:  
> https://blacklivesmatter.com/petitions/  
> https://www.change.org/p/andy-beshear-justice-for-breonna-taylor  
> https://www.change.org/p/the-trayvon-martin-law-stop-this-from-happening-again  
> https://www.change.org/p/department-of-justice-investigate-the-killing-of-tamir-rice
> 
> Do not close your eyes. Do not stay silent just because it isn't happening to you. Do not allow racism to continue prospering. 
> 
> Stay safe. I love you.

**Author's Note:**

> So that's the chapter. Please leave a Kudos if you enjoyed it and please leave a comment down below :)


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